


Crash and Burn

by coconutcranberries (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, BAMF everyone, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain Derek Hale, Everyone Is Alive, Giant-ass spiders, Humor, IN SPACE!, M/M, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, The Alpha Pack, The Hale Family, Weird Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:30:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/coconutcranberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles steals a shuttle and re-programmes it for Earth, the place he’s dreamed of visiting ever since he was little. He doesn't realize that Captain Hale and the rest of his crew are ten stars behind him until they crash-land ten feet in front of him, in the middle of a jungle. Hale wants to get them back to Moon Thirteen and possibly kill Stiles along the way. Stiles isn't having any of it. With the ships beyond repair, they’re stuck on Earth until Stiles can find the thing his mum told him about, all those years ago; the secret to bringing everyone back to Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Not To Fly A Shuttle- A Guide By Stiles Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look, I wrote this thing. I blame the anesthetic though, I wrote it in hospital. Thanks People of Earth! I hope you like it :)

Stiles had dreamed of exploring Earth ever since he was little. His mum used to tell him stories every nineteenth hour, before bed, stories full of discoveries and adventures. Space was so dull, so boring compared to life on Earth. Moon Thirteen held little excitement for him; there were no vast, deep oceans full of strange creatures and the skeletons of wrecked ships. He used to imagine trekking through the wild tangles of the jungle, swinging himself through the trees and roaring at the skies. 

When his mum died Stiles grew quiet, but his imagination never did, nor did his longing for Earth. He lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling of the bunker, old stories trailing absently through his mind like water through a sieve. He gathered chalk dust and dye and mixed it together, creating thick pastes in all kind of colours. Stiles even stole several feathers from the old Hale bird. He dipped them in the paste and meticulously recorded everything his mum had ever told him about Earth; he had never heard stories from anyone else about the place, not even his Dad knew the things his Mum did. His mum was different, special. 

Even now, at seventeen, Stiles can’t help but stare longingly at the shuttle on the landing platform. Scott claps his shoulder and gives him a warning look that Stiles pretends not to see. His hands trail across the metal fence as they make their way to Academy Thirteen. The shuttle probably isn’t even headed for Earth; there are millions of other planets that are more important to the Alpha Pack. Stiles still wishes that it was, and that he were old enough to board it. 

“Stiles man, c’mon. We have class in a minute.” Scott loops an arm around his shoulder and tugs him away, towards the white plastic building on the far edge of the platform. All the buildings on Moon Thirteen are made of the same material; layers and layers of plastic built on top of each other for extra strength, each sheet a stark white colour. The rows of houses and the schools and the few other buildings on Moon Thirteen all gleam with the same white colour. There are no shops; not like the ones his mum told him about. Food arrives on everyone’s doorsteps in neat little packages each day, along with a small supply of medicine and necessities, like soap. Anything else, like clothes, has to be applied for. Things are simple, easy and dull. 

Stiles makes a face as they draw nearer to the Academy, grumbles all the way to their first lecture of the day. There are only three classes in the Academy: Space Science; Technology; and Geology. Stiles dislikes all three of them. Space Science has the potential to be interesting if it weren’t for Professor Harris, who hates his own subject and all of the students who take it. 

Stiles doesn’t want to grow up to be a Space Scientist, or a Technician. He especially doesn’t want to be a Geologist; rocks just don’t interest him that much. The Alpha Pack runs all Twenty-One Moons, and they decide what kind of job you grow up to do. They decide the curriculum for the schools, they decide who lives on each moon and most importantly, they decide who gets to join the Space Explorers. Scott thinks the name sounds like a kids story but, Stiles couldn’t care less. 

“I know that face,” Scott says suddenly, “And it is my least favourite face. What are you plotting?” 

“You have a favourite face?” Stiles deflects, grinning as they come to a stop next to their lockers. The small plastic cubes are stacked one on top of the other in the hallway. Stiles presses his thumb onto the square on the base of the cube door and it beeps twice, swinging open. 

“No,” Scott says determinedly, “I just don’t like your plotting one. What were you thinking about?” 

“I was just planning the best way to steal that space shuttle outside.” Stiles snickers as Scott yelps and fumbles his books, dropping them in a pile on the floor. Scott swears and drops down. 

“Stiles!” he hisses, scrambling around on the floor. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Relax Scotty, just a joke.” 

“You shouldn’t joke about that!” Scott protests from the floor. Stiles waits until he’s standing again, books shoved into his bag before answering. 

“Scott, you know I wouldn’t really do something like that.” There’s a pause where Scott raises a disbelieving eyebrow and Stiles tries his best to look innocent. His dad’s told him multiple times before that the innocent look doesn’t really work for him. 

“I was wrong,” Scott says slowly. Stiles frowns questioningly at him. “That’s my least favourite face. You look like you’re in pain, or constipated.” 

Laughing sarcastically, Stiles shoves Scott in the shoulder until he starts to move. Their class is in the building across from this one, taught by Miss Blake. Stiles doesn’t mind her, but not even she can make rocks entertaining enough for him to pay attention. 

They slow down just before they reach the classroom, Scott swinging around to face him.

“Stiles, you wouldn’t really do anything like that, would you?” Scott lowers his voice as several walk past them. “You know it’s a criminal offense, the Alpha Pack would have your head.” 

Stiles snorts and waves a hand dismissively. “Look, Scott, I appreciate the concern, but it was just a joke. You honestly think I’m capable of stealing a shuttle that probably has every kind of high-protective barrier around it? Not to mention the fact that if I did steal it, I’d then have to fly it.” 

“All the shuttles have automatic steering now. You’d just have to do what the screen tells you to do,” Scott argues. “And I know you Stiles, you’re my best friend. If anyone could figure out a way to steal something like that, it would be you.” 

Stiles gapes at his friend and then adopts a solemn expression. “I’m touched Scott, truly.” He leans close and flutters his eyelashes girlishly, darting backwards with a cackle when Scott swipes at him. Scott glares at him and stalks inside the classroom, muttering under his breath as he throws himself in his seat. Stiles follows at a more sedate pace, still chortling. 

He barely listens to anything Miss Blake says, his mind fixed about two hundred feet away, on a small silver shuttle. 

 

Moon Thirteen might not be interesting enough for Stiles to want to stay, but it also isn’t easy for him to decide to leave. It’s been his home for the past seventeen years; he’s grown up here, his whole life took place on this giant sphere of rock. There are Twenty-one moons, but the first one is only for the Alpha Pack. Moon One is the simplest of them all, but it’s also called the Holding Base. The Alpha Pack lives there, the group of people in charge of all the Moons, and the people on them. 

It’s called the Holding Base because that’s where criminals are taken. If Stiles messes this up, if he gets caught or something goes wrong; he won’t ever leave Moon One. Not alive. He has to be careful, he can’t leave a trail. They’ll notice he’s gone anyway, but he doesn’t want to make it any easier for them. 

Still, it’s hard not to give into the urge to leave a note for his Dad. Stiles hesitates, his hands clutching a spare sheaf of parchment like a lifeline. Almost everything on the Moons is done by technology, paper is scarce and things like ink and paint have to be made by hand. The journals that he keeps his stories in are some of the only books on Moon Thirteen, and no one knows about them barring his Dad and Scott. 

If he writes the note on the computer, the record will be traced instantly. If he writes it on paper, there’s less of a chance of them finding it before he’s long gone. If he doesn’t write one at all, then he’ll be completely safe. 

Stiles loves his Dad more than anything. The man is strong and firm, unyielding in his love for his son. Stiles knows it’s been difficult for him ever since Stiles’ mum, John’s wife, passed away. The first year was unbearable for them both. He doesn’t want to leave his Dad, the man who tries to sneak unhealthy food in the mornings when Stiles is too tired to notice, who keeps peace on all the moons as the Sheriff, who held Stiles through his first panic attack, and every one since. He loves his Dad more than anything, as much as he loved his mother, and he doesn’t want to leave him. 

But he has to go to Earth. There’s a secret in his journals, something buried deep in the tales that his mum told him. Stiles needs to find it; he needs to go to Earth, he needs to leave his Dad. 

He writes a note, folds it in half and tucks it inside his Dad’s shoe, where he’s sure to find it. 

Curfew is on the twenty-first hour, and Stiles waits another hour after that before sneaking out. His Dad is working, down at the Hub. The Hub is a small building in the centre of the Moon, not too far from Stiles’ house. It’s where the Sheriff and his Deputies work, deciphering criminal codes and communicating with guards at the Holding Base. Luckily, it’s nowhere near the Landing Platform, which is where Stiles is headed. 

The trouble with space is that it’s always bright, despite the dark sky. Stiles adjusts the strap on his bag and pulls his hood down over his face. His clothes are all dull greys and blacks, so he blends easily into the very few shadows, slipping past buildings and avoiding patrol guards. Stiles has only missed curfew a few times before, and each time he’d gotten away with a warning and an escort home. He can’t afford to be caught today. 

The Landing Platform comes into view and Stiles gasps, backing into a shadow by the fence. The shuttle is still there, its steel glinting slightly in the light of the stars. It looks like everything Stiles has ever wanted and he can feel a thrum of anticipation rush through him, his heart speeding up. He rounds the fence, breathing quickly and takes in the other platforms. His heart drops and the colour drains from his face. 

There’s a ship on the left platform, a ship the size of the Academy. It towers over everything, a great looming black shape. Stiles takes in the faded lettering on the side, spelling out S.E Luna. He feels sick. This is Hale’s ship, the ship that belongs to the Space Explorers. 

Something moves in the corner of his vision and Stiles whips around, dropping into a crouch. A figure stands in the doorway to the Landing Hub, the long white building that borders the Landing Platform. The figure beckons at him and Stiles squints, sighing in relief when he recognises Danny’s features. Danny beckons impatiently again, looking nervously over his shoulder and Stiles stands, darting quickly across the stretch of open space. His shoes make a crackling sound as they scrape across the floor and Stiles winces, cursing his sneakers internally. 

He jogs up the steps to Danny, who’s watching him with guarded amusement. 

“You look even stranger than usual.” He comments, eyeing Stiles’ clothes. “I wasn’t sure it was you at first, I couldn’t see your face in that.” He gestures at the hood, which Stiles pulls back slightly, grinning weakly at Danny. 

Danny and he aren’t exactly friends, but Stiles has known him since they first started school together. Stiles suspects that the only reason they aren’t friends is because of Jackson, Danny’s best friend, who’s now gone off to join the Space Explorers. Jackson hated Stiles, although he hated Scott more. Plus, there’s the fact that Stiles tends to ask annoying questions and generally pisses people off. 

“Sorry,” Stiles says, “I don’t exactly want to get caught.” 

Danny shakes his head. “I still think this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life, and that includes the time you and Scott knocked down half of Harris’s classroom wall.” 

“That wasn’t stupid, that was pure genius.” Stiles protests, thinking fondly of Harris’s outraged face and the collapsed wall, plumes of grey smoke billowing across the desks. Danny gives him a look like he knows exactly what Stiles is imagining before turning serious. 

“I don’t have a lot of time before they send me home, so you’ll need to be out of here by then.” Stiles straightens up, watching Danny intently. “My cards will only get you so far through the building and once they log me out, they won’t work at all.” He digs three plastic cards out of his pocket and hands them to Stiles. “This one will get you through any of the doors with a green arrow. Just follow the signs on the walls, they’ll tell you where you need to go.” Stiles nods appreciatively and Danny nods back, continuing his explanation in a fast, low voice. “The second one is my personal pass, there’s no picture on it, so if anyone asks for identification just give them that.” 

Stiles frowns. “That seems stupid. Surely it would be safer to have a picture on it.” 

“I guess they trust their employees not to give out their identification cards.” Danny says dryly, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. 

Stiles smiles sheepishly, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Ah. Well, uh, what’s the last card for?” Danny smiles slightly, as if he can’t believe what he’s doing, shaking his head again. 

“It’ll turn on any computers and give you access to the controls. You won’t really need it though, will you? Since you’re just looking for paper records for your dad.” Danny’s voice is light and easy, completely at odds with his expression, which is far too knowing for Stiles’ liking. He nods anyway, pocketing the cards and clearing his throat. 

“Thanks, Danny. I appreciate it.” Danny shrugs. 

“Don’t thank me, I’m only doing this because then you’ll owe me. I have a couple of favours I want to ask you.” Stiles winces, and then hurriedly covers up his expression, starting towards the door. 

He feels awful as he slides through the main doors, swiping his card on all the doors marked with a green arrow. If he were only doing this to get paper records, Danny would barely get into trouble. But since he’s not, and the cards are in Danny’s name, he can’t help but feel like he’s putting a friend in danger. The Alpha Pack isn’t forgiving of criminals, although hopefully Stiles’ Dad will have some say if they do catch Danny out. 

Stiles comes to a door with a red arrow above it and he halts curiously. The control room is to the left, and he really does need to hurry before Danny logs out and the cards stop working. He’s about to turn reluctantly away from the doors when something catches his eye through the window. 

There’s a group of people inside, all gathered around a table, and a tall man with a harsh glare and stubble is stood in front of them. Stiles watches as he clicks something in his hand, and a blue glare emits from the table, bathing everyone with a ghostly looking light. Images appear in the light, holograms of spheres, half-drawn with white bright lines. There are formulas and notes scrawled next to different points on the sphere and Stiles watches with rapt interest as the group begins to argue. A blonde woman stands up, throwing her arms about aggressively, her expression fierce. 

Stiles is even more reluctant to leave now, but he’s lost precious minutes stood here and he can’t afford to waste any more time. He tears himself away from the door, from where the man with stubble is now yelling just as fiercely back at the woman and heads down the left corridor. He swipes at the control room door, panicking for a second when the plastic sticks. He tugs it out and swipes it again, relief flooding through him as the doors snap open. 

The control room is a dark, circular space. Stiles steps in cautiously and the doors glide smoothly shut behind him. The walls are made from the same white plastic as everything else, but every inch is littered with long square screens, buttons and dials protruding from the base of each one. There’s a circular desk in the centre of the room, piled high with clunky blocks of machinery. Stiles avoids that, not wanting to knock anything over. 

Lights flash on automatically as Stiles turns in a circle, taking everything in, eyes searching keenly for a particular screen. He finds it eventually, a long rectangle picture of the landing platforms. He strides towards it, his backpack swinging forward on his shoulder. He hitches it back in place and examines the screen. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out what to do, once Stiles slots Danny’s card into a thin gap beneath the picture. Lines of coding appear on the screen, words that Stiles doesn’t understand flashing before him. The screen goes blank suddenly, and Stiles freezes, wondering if he’s been caught out. The picture flickers back to life and Stiles breathes out, tapping at the buttons to confirm his identity, even if it’s not his actual identity.

He turns the dials and taps at buttons impatiently, conscious of his time limit. Eventually, Shuttle Enabled flashes in front of him in green font. Stiles pumps his fist, snatching the card from the slot. A clicking sound starts behind him, followed by a strange whirring. Stiles whips around, fumbling the card and slipping it into his pocket for safe-keeping. 

One of the machines on the desk is making strange sounds. Stiles steps towards it cautiously. The same green font flashes on a small square screen at the top of the machine: Activation Disc Complete. A tray pops open at the side of the machine, something small and silver glinting up at him. Stiles snatches it up with a grin, pocketing the device and heading for the door. 

Outside, the corridors are quiet. Stiles finds it suspicious that he hasn’t seen anyone yet, besides those in the room with red arrow. He doesn’t want to push his luck though so, he pulls his hood up again, ducking past doors quickly and keeping his head down. He’s just rounded another corner when he hears voices in front of him, so he tilts his head up and starts humming, trying desperately to look normal. His hand clenches tightly, trapping his bag in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hey, you.” The voice is high for a male, and Stiles looks up involuntarily, surprised. He almost splutters as he takes in the man, the strong jaw covered in stubble, the pale skin and green eyes. He’s the guy from the red arrow room, the one with the menacing glare. His eyes almost seem to glitter as he stares impatiently at Stiles. 

“Who, me?” Stiles points at himself, forcing himself to remain calm. The guy rolls his eyes, makes a big show of looking around. His companion shakes his head, a small grin on his face. Stiles hadn’t even noticed him at first, which is strange because the guy is huge, muscles stretching his shirt tight across his chest. He raises an eyebrow as Stiles stares. 

“Do you see anyone else around here?” The tall guy smirks down at Stiles, who narrows his eyes. 

“I see you and your friend, who are both in my way. Thanks for the stimulating conversation, but I think I’ll be going now.” He stalks forward, glimpsing the door out onto the Landing Platform at the end of the corridor. If he can just get past these two idiots, he’ll be home free. 

Unfortunately, Stiles has never had the best luck. The man steps in front of him, his friend staring impassively from the side. Stiles groans internally and glares from underneath his lashes. The man blinks twice before shaking his head. He clears his throat. 

“Identification?” 

Stiles tries not to tense up but, from the way their eyes narrow, he doesn’t succeed. He digs around in his pocket, pulling out two of the cards. Stiles places them in the man’s outstretched hand and holds his breath as he examines them. 

His friend shifts impatiently, heaving a sigh. “Enough, Hale, quit flirting. You’ve had your fun. C’mon, I want to get some food before Erica scoffs all of the good stuff.” 

Stiles feels his mouth drop open in shock. Hale. As in Derek Hale, Captain of the S.E. Luna. He gazes wide-eyed at Hale, who shoves the cards back at Stiles. There’s a dull flush spreading from his neck to his ears. 

“That seems to be in order. On your way, Mehaleani.” He strides past Stiles, his hands jammed in his pockets. Stiles snaps his mouth shut, still too shocked to feel relieved. He swivels around as the two men hurry down the corridor, disappearing down the corridor. 

He drifts towards the door in a daze. Everyone knows about Derek Hale. The Hale family are big important people, people with power. Talia Hale, Derek’s mother, is part of the Alpha Pack. Despite how much Stiles resents the Alpha Pack for their control, he’s heard only positive things about Talia’s work. 

He doesn’t have time to think about Derek right now, though. He steps swiftly towards the doors, swiping the card still clasped in his hand and stumbling outside. The Landing Platform is as bright as it was when Stiles entered the Hub and he doesn’t have any way of knowing how long he was in there for. He glances around, scanning the area and finding no signs of life. There are windows set into the wall behind him, so Stiles holds his breath and sprints across the platform, streaking along beside the fence and heading straight for the shuttle, which sits just in the shadow of Hale’s ship. He doesn’t slow down as he passes the S.E. Luna, just keeps running. His breath is coming in quick gasps, the muscles in his legs burning in protest. 

Stiles is almost to the shuttle when he hears a shout from somewhere behind him. The sound is faint, but Stiles still jumps, skidding across the ground and slamming into the side of the shuttle. He bashes his elbow against the metal, swinging himself around the other side of the ship. The shuttle is big, half the size of a small house and Stiles jogs around it, looking desperately for the door. 

He almost trips over it. 

The door is open, resting on the ground near Stiles’ feet. Stiles stops and throws his bag inside the shuttle, clambering up the incline after it. He hears more shouting in the distance and staggers upright hurriedly, his heart thumping in his chest. There’s a small control panel set into the metal and Stiles swears breathlessly at it, fingers groping at the buttons. There’s a click and a beep and the door slides upwards, the hinges creaking. 

Shaking, Stiles pauses to take a breath. He can’t afford to stay still for long though, turning around and pausing only to scoop up his bag. The front of the shuttle is mostly made of clear glass, giving Stiles a clear view of the Landing platform and, if he looks upward, the vast night sky. Stiles glances out of it, catching sight of several figures racing out of the Hub. He scrambles wildly towards the control panel, which spreads across half of the room, facing the glass.

Quickly, Stiles yanks the Activation Disc out of his pocket. It’s a small silver circle covered in blue lines, with a little hole in the middle. He throws himself into one of the two chairs and buckles it up, hands shaking almost too much to click it into pace.   
He focuses his attention on the panel and stares blankly at the array of buttons and flashing lights. He looks for a slot like the one in the control room, something to put the disc in. 

“What do I do?” He shouts desperately, hands skating across the panel. “Come on, how do I activate you?” 

To his utter shock, the shuttle answers. A smooth female voice drifts out of a speaker. Stiles yelps, his eyes flicking around wildly. 

“Activation Disc Required.” 

Stiles swears lowly, about to start shouting again when a small ‘pop’ interrupts him. A tray slides out of the bottom of the panel, similar to the one in the machine. 

“Yes, thank you, yes!” He slams the disc into place and the tray snaps shut. There’s a loud blaring sound that makes Stiles yell again. The whole shuttle begins to hum and Stiles holds his breath as the ship inches slowly upward. He can barely hear the shouts over the alarm, but they’re much closer than before, several people sprinting into view on the platform. 

Stiles tips his head back, whispering fiercely under his breath, his voice hoarse with panic. “Come on, you can do it. Come on, please.”

The shuttle soars upwards. 

 

Scott was right; if anyone could steal a high-priority shuttle, it would be Stiles. Stiles gazes blindly out of the window, staring out at the stars. He’s already typed in the destination on the panel, his fingers shaking with equal parts relief and incredulity. Part of him, and not a small part either, is busy berating himself and listing off all the ways this could go wrong in a high-pitched, panicky voice. The other part is busy fist-pumping. 

All in all, it’s lucky that Stiles doesn’t have to do anything responsible, like fly the shuttle.

Another thing Scott was right about is that he knows Stiles. Which is why Stiles is only half as horrified as he should be when he unbuckles his seat and stands up, stretching, to see Scott climbing out of the floor. 

Stiles stops dead, locked in a staring contest with his best friend. Scott has one hand clenched around a tile on the floor, the other lifting the trap door up so he can crawl out. His dark skin is smothered in dirt and filth, but not enough to disguise the pissed off look on his face. 

The tile slams back into place behind Scott, who storms towards Stiles. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Scott yells, waving his arms about wildly. Stiles grimaces, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “No, wait, let me rephrase that because you obviously weren’t thinking. What the hell are you going to do now?”

Scott pauses expectantly, panting slightly. Stiles frowns at him, catches the worried look in his friends eye and deflates, sagging against the back of the chair. 

“Scott,” Stiles sighs again, “You know why I have to do this. If there were a less illegal way then I probably would have gone down that route, but it’s done now. There’s no use worrying about it now.”

“Probably.” Scott hisses mutinously. Stiles gives him a weak grin and then bolts up as he catches sight of a little red light, set into the wall behind Scott, which is flashing continuously. 

“Huh.” Stiles says, staring at the light. Scott turns, following his line of sight and backing up towards Stiles. 

“What does that mean?” Scott looks expectantly at him. 

“No idea.” Stiles shrugs. Scott groans, burying his head in his hands. 

Something hits Stiles then and he rounds on Scott. 

“Hang on there, Mr High-and-Mighty. Why the hell are you here?” Scott makes an indignant noise, looking offended as he lowers his hands. Stiles rolls his eyes, gesturing wildly and smacking Scott on the forehead. 

“Not like that, I’m glad you’re here, kind of. Just, I never told you what I was doing, how did you find me?” Stiles blinks, frowning in bewilderment. “Come to that, how did you get here before me?”

Scott looks sheepish. “I, uh, followed you.” Stiles raises an eyebrow, a silent request for him to elaborate and Scott throws his hands up in the air. 

“I went home and I started thinking about that conversation we had earlier today. You said you were joking about stealing a shuttle, which you obviously weren’t, and I didn’t believe you. I thought if I went to your house this evening I could try and convince you not to do anything stupid.” Scott stares pointedly from Stiles to the red light, which is still flashing. “You were already leaving though and I decided to follow you instead.”

“That doesn’t explain how you got here before me. There’s no way you could have gotten through the Landing Hub without ID Cards.” Stiles crosses his arms and leans back against the chair, waiting for an explanation. 

“I didn’t go through the Landing Hub.” Scott blinks at him in confusion. Stiles slips, overbalancing and grabs hold of the other chair to keep himself upright. He rights himself hastily, brushing off his sleeves and making a ‘carry on’ gesture at Scott. 

Scott raises an amused eyebrow that Stiles ignores. “I climbed over the fence. There’s no security up at the moment, it’s all down so that the S.E Luna can leave at the seventh hour. It takes too long to put it all up and take it down again in such a small space of time.” 

“How do you know all of that?” Stiles asks in amazement. “And why didn’t you tell me?” Scott rolls his eyes. 

“Because I listen in Technology instead of finding embarrassing photos of all our teachers on the computer.” Stiles nods his head in acceptance, surrendering that point. 

“You have to admit though,” Stiles says after a small pause, “those photos of Harris were pretty amazing.” Scott grins goofily at him, laughing reluctantly. 

“Yeah, although I don’t think he enjoyed them as much as everyone else did.”

“I don’t know, I thought he looked great plastered on every wall of the Academy. It brightened the place up a bit.” Stiles grins up at Scott. Scott sighs, rubbing at his forehead. 

“So, I take it we’re headed for Earth then?” Scott walks tiredly towards the chair Stiles just vacated, slumping down in the seat. 

“Yeah. I put the destination in the panel, a bit before you crawled out of the floor. What exactly were you doing down there anyway?” Stiles wanders over to inspect the tile, which is slightly loose. There’s a small crack where the pieces haven’t connected properly, and through it, Stiles can see blackness. He stands up, wondering over to his backpack and picking it up. Scott watches him with a raised eyebrow as he stuffs the bag inside the opening, feeling at the edges of the tile to see if there’s a lock or a hinge. 

“I thought I’d better hide somewhere.” Scott swivels round in the chair, fiddling with the controls on the plastic arm. “I was just looking around, waiting to see when you would arrive, when I heard all those people shouting. The tile was already loose, so I just climbed inside.” 

Stiles lets the edge of the tile fall back into place, his fingertips cold at the reminder. 

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” Stiles knows it’s a stupid question, but he can’t help but ask it anyway. Scott’s always been the optimistic one in their friendship. 

“Of course they will, Stiles. I think they might have noticed that you stole a high-priority shuttle.” Stiles nods, any hope he had draining out of him. “Did anyone see your face?” Scott leans forward, his expression the most serious that Stiles has ever seen it. 

“I kept my hood down the whole time.” Stiles says slowly. He’s neglects to mention the time he spent chatting with Derek Hale; he doesn’t want to see his best friend have a heart attack. 

“Not that it matters, anyway.” Scott says morosely, kicking out at thin air. “They’ll know who we are when they catch up to us.” 

Scott is edgy for the next hour, pacing up and down the length of the shuttle and ringing his hands. Stiles keeps his focus on the control panel, directing questions to the robotic voice in the speaker and frowning at the answers. 

Stiles sighs as Scott marches past him for the fifth hundred time, darting nervous glances out of the window. 

“I thought I was the twitchy one, not you.” Scott shoots him a glare. Stiles holds his hands up in mock surrender, goes back to tapping away at the keyboard. 

“Are we there yet?” Scott whines suddenly. 

“Does it look like we’re there yet?” Stiles hisses. “Have you seen anything out of these windows that might clue you in to the fact that we are not quite there yet?” His outburst costs him a surly look from Scott, but at least he gets five minutes of peace. 

“I’ll never get why you don’t like it up here.” Scott says softly into the silence. Stiles turns in surprise to see him standing near the long window, peering through of the glass with a strange look on his face. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks quietly. 

“It’s just…” Scott trails off, looking stumped. Stiles sighs and goes to stand by him. 

“I don’t hate it up here. I think it’s brilliant, in some ways. Space is so big, so vast. It makes me feel tiny in comparison.” Stiles quirks a smile at Scott and then turns back to the view. His reflection is ghostly in the glass, a pale slim figure in dark clothes. 

Beyond his reflection, there’s a vast sea of blackness. It looks like liquid velvet, with pockets of bright sparks. Some of them swirl, thousands of tiny stars absorbed in their own small tornadoes. The rest are swept up, shooting across the dark sky, trailing pink and gold plumes of fire. 

Space is beautiful, but Stiles knows that Earth is just as beautiful. 

“It’s not enough for you, though, is it?” Scott smiles wryly. He holds up his hands at Stiles’ protest. “It’s okay, I get it. I mean, I don’t entirely understand it, but I know how much your mum’s stories have always meant to you.” 

Stiles nods. He opens his mouth, about to thank his friend when the whole shuttle lists to the side. Scott topples over. Stiles lets out a yell as his face collides with the glass, his nose smashed uncomfortably against the window. The shuttle rights itself with a shudder and Scott picks himself up off of the ground, staring around wildly. 

“Did we hit something?” He demands, looking confused. 

“There’s nothing up here to hit.” Stiles throws back, staggering upright. 

“Gravity Beam Deflected. Destination reached in 6 point 3 minutes.” The female voice intones cooly, making Scott jump. Stiles dives for the chair, buckling himself in, excitement pounding through him. 

A loud wailing noise starts up. The sound is deafening, cutting through the air easily. Stiles slaps his hands over his ears, his face screwed up in pain. 

“What’s a gravity beam?” Scott screams. “And what the hell is that noise?” He’s bent double, clutching his head. 

“I don’t know.” Stiles yells back, releasing his ears to whack the keyboard violently, searching for a button to turn off the noise. 

The ship lists to the side again, wobbling dangerously. Stiles grips the buckle of his seat, his feet dangling uselessly at an odd angle. Scott rolls along the floor, his body colliding sharply with the side of the shuttle, his head smacking against the glass. His body goes limp.

“Gravity beam deflected.” The voice cuts smoothly through the sound, sounding a little shaky. “Shields at 84 percent. Preparing for Landing.”

Stiles snaps his head upwards, his eyes wide with shock. He glances at Scott, who is still motionless. Gritting his teeth against the noise, Stiles unbuckles his belt, grabbing hold of the arm of the chair to keep himself from falling. 

The ship is entirely on its side, leaning towards being completely upside down. Stiles dangles from the chair, unsure of his next move, but knowing he needs to help Scott into the chair. 

“Scott,” He yells over the noise, his head beginning to ache. “Scott, we’re being shot at. You need to move towards me.” The shuttle is still moving forwards, despite being on its’ side, although the nose has begun to tilt downwards. Stiles would probably be excited about that if he weren’t busy panicking. 

“Scott, hurry up!” Stiles swings himself a little on the arm of the chair, his muscles burning. His fingers feel brittle, as if one tap would cause them to snap, shatter into a billion pieces.

Scott groans, the sound barely audible over the screeching alarm, but there nonetheless. Stiles lets out of whoop of triumph, which is interrupted by the shuttles voice again.

“Please board the landing pod. Detachment will ensue in one minute.” Stiles swears as a countdown starts up, his eyes snapping to a floor tile, which is lit up a bright blue. It’s the same one he examined earlier, the one that Scott climbed out of. 

“Scott, wake the hell up or I’ll call your mother.” Stiles yells, clutching frantically at the chair. His hands are slippery with sweat, but he manages to get a grip, strong enough to swing himself sideways across the floor. 

Stiles skids down the length of the shuttle, his fingers scrabbling for something to hold onto. They catch in the edge of the tile, the one that’s lit up like a homing beacon. He holds on for dear life, prying the edge of the tile further away from the floor until it slides sideways with a pop and a hydraulic hiss.

He hauls himself inside, the countdown ringing in his ears, already on thirty seconds. The space is small, so small that Stiles feels like he’s slowly being crushed. He wiggles round, facing out of the tile and spots Scott on the glass window. He’s stirring feebly, a line of blood running from his temple to his mouth. 

Stiles feels something lurch in his stomach and he clenches his hands around the edge of the opening in the floor. He realises suddenly, around the cloud of panic and the buzzing in his ears, that it’s the shuttle that’s lurching, not his stomach. It flips upright suddenly, tossing Scott straight towards Stiles, who grabs out and catches his ankle. Stiles uses the shuttles momentum to pull him fiercely towards the opening, yanking him right into the opening. Scott kicks out, barely conscious and Stiles swears, shoving Scott behind him. He can barely breathe now, doesn’t want to close out the only bit of light they have. 

The shuttle is moving faster, approaching tremendous speeds and Stiles almost throws up. He psyches himself up, bundling Scott into a corner and snapping the tile shut, drenching them in darkness. 

The shuttle rockets forward and Stiles’ vision whites out, the speed flinging him into unconsciousness.


	2. A Giant Pinwheel Of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles crash but don't burn, and the S.E. Luna burns but doesn't crash. Well, a little bit of it burns. Isaac is really happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Thanks so much for all the responses! Hope you enjoy this next chapter just as much :) Happy Reading!

Scott wakes him up, snapping his fingers next to Stiles’ ear and prodding him in the cheek. His face is grey with fear. His lips are a rigid line, the one side of his mouth edged with dried blood. Stiles starts to sit up immediately, but Scott pushes him back down, his hands firm on Stiles’ shoulders. 

“What’s going on?” The words come out a little slurred, like he’s speaking through a mouthful of wool. He can taste ash in his mouth and now that he thinks about it, the air smells slightly burnt, a cloying smoky scent to it. 

Scott shakes his head, then winces, lifting a hand to his temple. It hovers beside a small cut, which looks deeper than Stiles had hoped it would be. It’s still bleeding a little. 

“We landed.” Scott says finally, his voice shaking. “Actually, we crash landed. I don’t think we should move though.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, frowning. His head is clearer now, thoughts darting through it erratically with their usual ease. “Where have we landed?” 

Scott bites his lip, glancing all around them. Stiles back is starting to protest; the ground beneath him feels like metal, ice cold and unyieldingly solid. He moves slowly, easing himself into a sitting position. Scott keeps a hand on his shoulder, the rounded fingernails digging into his skin. 

The sky behind Scott is pale blue, a colour Stiles has never seen before. 

His breath catches in his throat. Stiles moves to stand up, but Scott pushes him back, growling out a warning noise. 

“Scott, I’m fine, I swear.” Stiles snaps impatiently, trying to sound reassuringly. He feels a kind of ache all over, as if he’s been balled up and thrown down a metal chute, rolling over and over, bashing into the sides. Nothing feels broken though, or even sprained. “Let me up, I want to see where we are.”

“You won’t be fine if you stand up, neither of us will be. I'm not sure it's safe.” Scott tells him and Stiles pauses in his efforts to move. “Besides, you don’t need to get up to see where we are.” Stiles is even more confused now. He furrows his brow questioningly at Scott, who closes his eyes, pointing one hand at the floor. Stiles shifts his legs slightly, before realising he doesn’t need to. His stomach rolls over. 

The surface under his legs is transparent, completely clear glass. Through it, Stiles can see the gap between them and the actual floor, which has to be at least 100 foot high. Stiles stares down at the impossibly large drop, feeling lightheaded. He’s never been up this high before, not on land; everything below him in miniscule. The floor is a mass of red and green, blurry and too far away to see clearly. It could be some kind of walkway, or maybe the ground is just a strange mix of colours here. He shifts his eyes to Scott, feeling sick.

To their left, there’s a sprawling jungle of buildings, each one glinting silver and black in the pale light. There are dashes of green and brown and darker green, a swirling canvas of colour and texture. It stretches on for miles, endless. Stiles swallows, gazing to the right instead. 

There’s water, or what looks like water; a huge expanse of it that disappears into the horizon. Stiles heaves in a breath, suddenly feeling small as he watches the liquid lap at the sides of the walkway, moving to and fro lightly. 

Scott clicks his fingers in front of Stiles face, his expression equal parts concerned and scared. 

“We’re still in the detachment pod, under the tile.” Scott says quickly, his voice serious. Stiles nods absently, then narrows his gaze. 

“We’re still on the shuttle?” He looks around nervously, and with not a little bit of confusion. He had thought they’d been suspended in mid-air. Scott shakes his head.

“No, we’re not on the shuttle. There was a pod underneath the tile, one that broke off so that we could land. You were unconscious,” Scott explains shakily “But I woke up. We were going so fast, but we slowed down as we got closer to the ground.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Stiles protests weakly. “We should have kept speeding up.” Scott shrugs, unconcerned. 

“We didn’t. We didn’t hit the ground either. It slowed down and crashed through a bigger glass pod. There’s lots of them around us, in mid-air, and some underneath us.”

Stiles looks and sure enough, Scott is right. They’re inside a large glass oval about the size of a small room, held up by large white pipes. The pipes run back in a long line, meeting at the centre of what appears to be a giant circle. There are other pods, ovals, at regular intervals, each one held up by the same pipes. Some are low to the ground, some out to the side, and some are at the very top of the circle, high above them. 

“What is it?” Stiles breathes, awed. Scott shrugs again, ruffling his dark hair. 

“I don’t know. I thought you might.” Stiles raises an eyebrow in confusion. “I thought it might be in your journals or something.” Scott explains, gesturing to something behind Stiles. 

Stiles twists around slowly, fumbling with his hands until he finds the strap of his bag. He lets out a deep sigh of relief, tucking the bag under his chin before coughing and straightening up. 

“So, any ideas?” Scott asks, waving his hand around. Stiles shakes his head, at a loss. 

“Not a clue, Scotty, my friend. It looks like the wheel of a giant moonbike, but I don’t think those exist down here, especially ones this size.”

Scott sighs. “You never know, this looks like the kind of place where anything could exist.” 

It hits him then, where they are. They’re on Earth. They’re on the planet Stiles has been dreaming of visiting for years, the planet he risked his life to travel to. An overwhelming feeling wells up inside him, bursting through his veins, setting his skin on fire. He feels giddy, ecstatic and completely overwhelmed. 

“We’re on Earth.” Stiles breathes, his mouth open in amazement. 

Scott eyes him, looking concerned. “Yeah, buddy, did you only just realise that? Did you hit your head?” 

“No, Scott, you don’t get it. We’re actually on Earth. We made it. I made it.” He says the last part quietly, as if he’s talking to someone else. 

Scott watches him carefully before nodding. He looks unsure, a bit lost. Stiles feels the excitement flood out of him, dousing the fire in his skin. 

He still can’t bring himself to apologise, not yet. 

“Right.” He says decisively. “We need to find a way down.” 

“You’re the one who always comes up with the plans.” Scott says, glancing around, as if looking for an exit sign, or a conveniently abandoned pair of flight packs. Stiles has always wanted a flight pack. 

It’s true, to an extent. Stiles is pretty good with planning. He plans their pranks, their class projects, everything. Still, Scott is the leader. He’s the one who puts it all together, makes things happen. His plans would go nowhere without Scott. 

“You said we’re still in the pod.” Stiles states, thinking hard. Scott nods, leaning forward to listen, his legs folded uncomfortably underneath him. “How do you know?” 

“I stood up.” Scott says, shifting in embarrassment. “I hit my head.” He points upwards at what must be glass and Stiles snorts, doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. He looks at their positions. They’re in roughly the same places they were when the tile shut, although the flight must have thrown them about a bit. 

Stiles reaches out both hands, stretching until he can feel the hard, cold glass at his fingertips. He focuses on the right wall, staring out at the water and running his hands across the invisible pod. It seems to have blended with its surroundings, completely camouflaged. He suspects that anyone outside of the pod wouldn’t be able to see whoever is inside. 

He finds a crack in the pod, a thin vertical line running the length of the otherwise smooth surface. 

“Prepare to be amazed,” Stiles drawls, pulling it open with a soft click. It swings towards him and he ducks to the side, swearing. Scott snorts. 

“That was definitely something. Consider me amazed.” Stiles sticks his tongue out. 

They crawl out of the pod and Stiles pulls his bag on, checking the straps to make sure they’re secure. He then hops about for a full minute, shaking his leg around and complaining of cramp while Scott rolls his eyes and stares out of the glass, his eyes fixed widely on the water. 

“There’s nothing like this back home,” Scott says in awe. Stiles grins up at him from the floor, which he’s now sprawled across. “I’m not saying this was a good idea,” Scott warns him, “It’s not even remotely a good idea. But it does look nice.” 

Stiles snorts, rolling back to his feet. 

“I bet it looks even nicer from close up.” He frowns, trying to think of a way down. “I’m guessing, since this whole thing is built like a wheel, that it’s some kind of machine.” 

“So?” Scott says, frowning. 

“If it’s a machine, it has to be powered by something.” Stiles explains quickly, tripping over his words. “There must be some kind of panel, like the one on the shuttle, a set of controls that make the wheel turn.” 

Scott furrows his brows, looking thoughtful. “Maybe it’s on the ground? People probably used to sit in these pods,” He points to the centre of the pod, where there’s some kind of ruined structure that could have been a bench in a previous life, “So I imagine they only had one set of controls. I mean, what if one pod wanted to turn the wheel left, and the other pod wanted to turn it right?”

It makes sense, in a strange kind of way. “Damn it.” Stiles mutters. He marches to the other side of the pod, noting with interest that the floor doesn’t creak or wobble. The machine is stable, despite how abandoned it looks. 

He steps around the glass on the floor, small fractures glinting dully in the light of the sky. Scott follows him, hovers a hand out ready in case Stiles slips. He’s never been the most coordinated of people; Scott’s always been the lucky one in that department. 

There’s a giant detachment pod-sized hole in the glass, letting in soft blasts of air. 

“I’m guessing this is how we got in?” Stiles says drily, staring out of the gap. He doesn’t look down, one hand carefully gripping the jagged edge of the glass. 

“Be careful, Stiles. Don’t get too close.” 

Stiles grins, surprisingly unafraid. “You know me. I’m always careful.” Scott scoffs, but Stiles can’t bring himself to be insulted. 

“I think I can see it,” He calls back suddenly, his eyes on the white box on the ground. It’s apart from all the other buildings, smaller and close to the wheel, tucked away at its feet. Stiles narrows his eyes, but he can’t see anything more from this far away. 

He steps back from the edge, a strange humming in his ears and stares at a disappointed Scott. He watches as the disappointment shifts slowly to anger.

“What are we going to do?” Scott demands. “If the controls are down there, and we’re up here, then how are we supposed to get down at all? Did you factor this into your decision when you decided to run off on your own?”

“Funnily enough, Scott, no, I didn’t factor getting stuck in a giant pinwheel of death into my equations.” He snaps back, stepping forward. His shoes collide with the broken glass, but he can barely hear the cracks over the humming in his ears. He stops short. 

“Do you hear that?” Stiles says, rubbing his ear. Scott scoffs, looking ready to start shouting. “No, I’m not changing the subject. Can you hear that humming sound?” 

Scott shuts his mouth abruptly and his eyes fix somewhere over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles hesitates, before turning, following Scott’s gaze. 

He swears violently, tripping backwards and landing in glass. Pain flares in his arms, his hands, his legs and he swears again. Scott hauls him up, shakily brushing glass off of him. Stiles can feel blood starting to well in his hands, but he ignores it.

Captain Derek Hale and his sister, Laura Hale, are hovering just outside of the glass pod. 

 

Derek steps in first, his feet crunching against the broken glass, protected by large black boots. He clicks something on the strap of his flight pack and the humming sound dies away. Laura steps in after him, soaring daintily across the pod and landing behind them, away from the glass. She cuts her power too, and they stand in silence. 

“So,” Stiles says uncomfortably, putting on a grin. “Do you come here often?” 

Scott elbows him sharply in the stomach, hissing his name. Derek’s eyes widen minutely, in what Stiles would swear is surprise, before his expression fades back to neutral. 

“State your names.” Derek glares at them both. Stiles says nothing, clamps his mouth shut. Derek narrows his eyes. “Either tell us your names now, or we’ll have to find out the hard way.” 

Stiles snorts, grinning innocently when Derek’s face turns murderous. 

“What?” Stiles smiles. “I can’t help it. That was the cheesiest line in existence. Besides, you just heard my name.” He adds, jerking his thumb at Scott. 

“Forgive me for being skeptical,” Derek deadpans. “But ‘Stiles’ sounds like a disease.” 

Stiles narrows his eyes, mouth open to retort when Laura sighs, pushing forward importantly, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her shoulders.

“Look, just tell us your names so that Derek doesn’t pitch a fit, then we can all get out of here. You’re already in a lot of trouble, boys, don’t make things more difficult.” Her voice is placating and impatient all at once. 

“Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski.” Scott says, interrupting Stiles before he can speak and stepping forward. Stiles stares at him in outrage, gritting his teeth. Derek lifts a smug eyebrow at him. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispers furiously, but Scott ignores him, holding up a hand. Stiles throws his own hands in the air, wincing when blood spatters off of his palms. He examines them with a grimace. There are several gashes in the centre of both palms, little cuts surrounding them and lining his fingers. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be any glass in the skin. 

He lowers his hands, looks up to find Scott and Laura discussing something in quiet tones. Stiles doesn’t want to look at Derek, but he can’t seem to help it. 

Hale looks the same as he did a few hours ago, barring the black uniform; tall and imposing, with impossible eyes and chiselled features. The man is staring at Stiles’ hands, which twitch slightly under his gaze. Stiles crosses his arms, shifting uncomfortably, pain flickering in the backs of his shoulders. He wonders vaguely if the glass got through his hoodie, cut into his back. It doesn’t feel too bad. 

He glances back at Hale, who’s staring determinedly away, his jaw tight. 

“I hate to break up your little meeting,” Derek says sarcastically, “But will we be leaving any time today?” 

Laura smiles apologetically at Scott, who looks surprised, but pleased. She steps around him and marches over to Derek. Derek takes a tiny, minute step backwards. Stiles grins to himself, stopping abruptly when Scott moves towards him. 

“I’m sorry Stiles,” He says quietly. “It’s just that they’re our only way out of here, unless you fancy jumping.” Stiles pretends to think about it for a few seconds, aiming a calculative look at the hole. 

“Stiles!” Scott sounds horrified, catching the attention of the Hale siblings, who look over from where they’ve been whispering frantically at each other. Laura steps away and Derek clears his throat, jerking his head towards the gap. 

“Time to go.” Laura rolls her eyes, gesturing impatiently at Scott. Scott stares narrowly at Stiles, who smirks and then storms over to Derek. Stiles doesn’t see why he can’t fly down with Laura, doesn’t see why he has to be lumbered with Derek. Still, he doesn’t exactly want to challenge Laura. Derek looks as if he’s thinking the same thing, eyeing Stiles with disgust as he draws nearer. 

“Just because my name sounds like a disease does not mean I have one, Hale, so quit looking so grossed out.” Stiles informs him, flexing his hands. His legs are twinging too, little sparks of pain shooting up his thighs. He glances down, but his clothes are all black cotton; it’s impossible to see if he’s bleeding, although it doesn’t feel as if he is. 

Derek huffs, grabbing Stiles by the shoulder and hauling him forwards to strap the buckle of the flight pack around him. Stiles stumbles, his nose banging against Derek’s collarbone. He shifts, leaning away, but Derek draws him back in, wrapping one arm around his waist, the other tight across his back. Stiles winces, definitely sure that he’s cut his back now. 

There’s a click as the flight packs power up and then a loud hum. Stiles feels his muscles tense as they rise slowly upwards. Derek manoeuvres them out of the pod with practiced ease, his arms tight around Stiles. Stiles tries to focus on the air around them, Scott’s whooping noise, the sound of the water below them; anything but the way Derek’s pulse beats under Stiles’ hands; the faint scent of leather clinging to his skin; his deep, measured breaths. 

They soar towards the floor steadily. Stiles lands heavily, his knees almost buckling. Under any other circumstance, that would have been fun, brilliant even. Instead, Stiles feels a little like he’s just dropped to his doom. The Space Explorers are going to ship him back to Moon One straight away and lock him and his best friend in the Holding Base, unless he can find a way to escape before they board. Derek’s hands clench minimally around him, as if he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking, before he unbuckles the flight pack strap and steps back. 

The floor beneath his feet is hard, made of red stone. Long strips of green shoot up from the cracks in the stone, waving gently around his hips. 

“It’s called grass.” Derek says gruffly, watching Stiles as he trails his hands through it. “It grows on Moon Five, the farming Moon.” 

“Farming moon?” Stiles asks distractedly, his eyes lingering on the pink and purple dots growing here and there, some wide open to catch the light, the others furled inwards. 

“It’s where they grow food and plants.” Derek answers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s the only Moon with the right kind of soil to allow growth.” Derek sounds as if he’s reciting something. 

“But not the only planet,” Stiles mumbles, fingering a purple dot. It’s more of a clump of leaves, like a miniscule lettuce. His Dad hates lettuce, won’t let Stiles put it anywhere near his plate. 

“What?” Derek says, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. Stiles shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “Those are called flowers.” Derek adds, nodding at the tiny lettuce. “They aren’t safe to eat, by the way, just in case you were thinking of trying it.” 

Stiles glares at him, withdrawing his hand. “I wasn’t going to eat it. I just wondered what they were.” Derek snorts disbelievingly, turning his back on Stiles to look for his sister.

Rookie Mistake. 

Stiles backs away, turning and darting across the walkway. He almost trips on the grass, but his feet are on solid ground, and he manages to get enough of a grip to start sprinting, pelting his way towards the buildings, away from Derek. If he can just get close enough to hide, find somewhere to lie low for a bit, maybe he can grab Scott when they come to look for him, maybe he can think of a plan-

His foot catches on the remains of a top step, tumbling forwards down the crumbled ruins of a set of stone stairs. He lands sprawled on the floor, his bag lying several feet away from him, the zip torn open. The breath whooshes out of his lungs and he rolls to a stand, every part of him aching, blood gathering in his palms, his legs, his back, trickling from each cut.. 

There’s a low humming sound that gets louder and louder with every passing second and Stiles groans low in his throat, rolling onto his stomach and getting tiredly to his knees. 

Rough hands grab his arms and haul him upwards, leaving Stiles moaning in pain, his shoulder blades protesting violently. The touch doesn’t loosen, or by any means get gentler, but the person does go still behind him. 

“Derek!” the person yells, voice decidedly female and with a husky undertone, almost like a purr to it. Stiles just knows this person is going to be attractive, and probably violent, if her grip suggests anything. “I think you lost something.” 

She switches her grip to the back of his collar and starts dragging him backwards, presumably towards Hale. Stiles is too busy groaning in pain to put up much of a fight. 

“My bag.” He mumbles, trying to keep up with the woman’s long stride. 

“I’ve got it.” Stiles looks up in surprise, staggering along behind the woman, to see the same guy from the Landing Hub, Hale’s friend, following them calmly. He has Stiles’ bag in his hands, and Stiles watches him neatly shove the journals and spare socks and water pills back inside the broken compartment, holding it together with careful, dark fingers. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says gratefully, voice quiet and sincere. The man looks up at him, his big eyes locking thoughtfully with Stiles’, and nods, his movements sure and slow. 

Stiles goes back to trying not to fall in a graceless heap on the floor. 

"I see you’ve met some of my crew.” Hale greets him. Stiles gets a good look at the woman, who lets go of his collar, and stands to the side. Her lips are painted red, drawn into a wide smirk that shines out of her eyes. Stiles eyes the blonde hair, the black leather and tall boots warily, wonders how the hell she caught up to him in such high heels. She looks deadly, beautiful, but there’s something brittle to her her stance that makes Stiles think she’s a little more breakable than she looks. 

The other man joins her, Stiles’ bag still trapped in his hands. Stiles narrows his gaze. 

“I need that back.” He says, his eyes flicking desperately to Hale. Scott and Laura are nowhere to be seen, the streets are empty and quiet. 

Hale regards him for a second before waving a dismissive hand, turning to his two crew members. 

“Erica, you scout ahead, set up a perimeter. I’ll send a team out after you when we reach the ship. Check the safety lines and keep an eye out for supplies, we might need them.” 

“I need that back.” Stiles insists again, but Hale ignores him. Erica smirks at him, bumping his shoulder as she strides past to follow her orders. 

“Boyd, help me escort Stilinski to the ship.” Boyd shrugs, nodding and steps into place beside Stiles. 

“Are you listening to me?” Stiles snaps, as they grab hold of an arm each. He chokes back a pained noise and then grits his teeth. “I need my bag back.” 

“Not possible.” Hale informs him, marching him forward, Boyd falling into step easily. “It’s a security risk.” He stares down at Stiles, smirking meanly. “You can have it back when we’ve deemed the contents safe.”

Stiles swears at him, kicking out with his feet, but it only makes him stumble. He’s about to try again when they haul him roughly round a corner and his breath catches in his throat. 

The S.E Luna is docked in front of them, gleaming in the light. She’s nothing like the shuttle, ten times its brilliance, a truly beautiful piece of craftsmanship. She’s sleek, curved lines and sharp edges, black surfaces shining. Stiles barely registers being shoved towards it, too busy taking in the sight. 

“How did we not see her from the circle?” Stiles asks breathlessly, his brain catching up. Derek shifts imperceptibly at his side, something Stiles wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t this close to the man. Boyd snorts. 

“Obviously you weren’t using your eyes.” Derek huffs, sounding uncomfortable. They drag him forwards, right up to the door, which slides down for them at their approach. “And it’s not a circle.”

“What is it then?” Stiles asks, genuinely curious. He knows he should be finding a way out, knows that if he gets on the ship then he probably won’t be coming off it until they arrive at Moon One, but he can’t help it. Derek and Boyd have an iron grip, their hands clenching tight around his arms. They have his journals, his supplies, his best friend, everything. He’s not defeated, not yet, but he knows when to lie low and when to fight back. 

He sure as hell isn’t going to Moon One. 

Stiles waits impatiently for Derek to answer him, but Derek just hesitates, looking unsure, but it’s Boyd who answers eventually. “It used to be called The Eye.” 

Stiles waits, but apparently that’s all he’s going to get. 

“Wow, you’re both really big on words, aren’t you? Please, be a little more vague, I don’t think I can handle all this detail.” Boyd’s expression doesn’t change, but Derek scowls, a low growl sounding in his throat. Stiles raises an eyebrow at the noise, ready to make a comment when Scott bounds forward, ducking out of the door. 

“Stiles, there you are man, come on.” Scott bounces excitedly on his toes, beckoning them forward before disappearing again. Derek looks shocked before his face rearranges itself back into a scowl. He shoves Stiles forward and he tumbles through the door. 

 

They end up in a large round room. The walls are a funny grey colour, dotted with pieces of paper and computer screens. There’s a circular table in the middle of the room, papers and little boxes scattered all over it. Scott drags Stiles towards a seat as Laura bustles towards them, holding a first aid kit. 

“They’re supposed to be in the Cells.” Derek hisses, marching towards Laura. Laura rolls her eyes, taking a seat next to them and opening the kit with an ominous click. “You’re treating them like crew members instead of criminals Laura.” 

“I already checked with Mom,” Laura says, twisting to face her brother. “She wants to talk to them first, and we’re not savages Derek, we can at least clean them up a little.” 

She turns back to Stiles, gives him a smile that’s more teeth than anything else and Stiles inwardly questions the comment about savages. Derek doesn’t reply, simply leans back against a wall with his arms crossed and glares at nothing. 

“I thought Captain Hale was in charge.” Stiles says innocently, although he’s fine with following Laura’s orders, or her Mom’s, whoever. 

“So did Captain Hale.” Derek mutters, avoiding Stiles’ smirk. Laura rolls her eyes again, poking Stiles’ hand. 

“Ouch, Jesus, that hurt.” Stiles yelps, yanking his hand back. 

“Don’t be a dick then.” Stiles glares at her, then at Scott, who’s trying to muffle his laughs in his sleeve. Stiles does a double-take then, taking in his face. 

“You’re all fixed then.” Stiles points at Scott’s face with his free hand and he beams back happily, his face lighting up with excitement. 

“Yeah, cool huh? They have this weird stuff, some kind of chemical thing that heals up cuts.” 

Laura snorts. “It does more than that. We found it on Planet L and distilled it. The properties inside can make you faster, stronger and completely healthy.”

“Distilled from what?” Stiles asks suspiciously. Derek grins wolfishly over at them. 

“Lycan Spit.” 

Scott turns green, shuddering and Stiles pulls a face. Laura rolls her eyes again, wiping something over Stiles’ hands that makes them feel numb. Stiles privately thinks that she’s going to strain her eyes if she keeps doing that. 

“What exactly is a Lycan?” Scott asks, frowning in confusion. 

“A Lycan is a feral creature from Planet L. It has immense amounts of strength and power, as well as enhanced senses and the ability to heal itself.” Stiles whips his head toward the doorway, where a tall woman stands proudly, looking intently at him and Scott. 

Derek pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms and standing rigidly. Laura’s back straightens, although she keeps working at Stiles’ cuts, switching to the other hand. 

“Mom, do you really think we should be telling them this?” Derek asks, his voice respectful but, still irritated. Stiles watches the woman, who is apparently Talia Hale, the retired Captain of the S.E Luna and the founder of the Space Explorers. He feels almost as small as he did watching the water earlier. 

Talia sends Derek a soothing look. “There’s nothing they can do with this information. I don’t see any harm in it.” She steps forward, her long hair swaying prettily around her shoulders. There’s no denying she’s beautiful and Stiles can see traces of her children in the crook of her nose, the upturn of her mouth, the sharp cheekbones. 

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Stilinski, although I wish it were under better circumstances.” Stiles jolts in surprise, eyebrows shooting up. He glances at the others, who also seem confused. Laura raises her head to stare bewilderingly at her mother. 

“You know who I am?” Talia nods, smiling slightly. 

“I was a friend of your mothers. I also happen to know your father. We meet a few times at the Hub to discuss any police matters.” Stiles lets this absorb for a second, glancing at Scott, who shrugs. Stiles shrugs back. 

“It’s nice to meet you then. I’d shake your hand, but your daughter’s broken it.” He grins cheerily up at Talia, who smiles warmly, turning to talk to Scott. 

“I haven’t broken it.” Laura protests, poking the skin of his palm. Stiles raises an eyebrow and tries to wiggle his fingers. They remain still, limp in Laura’s grip. 

“It’s just a small dose of Kanima.” Laura explains, turning back to the first aid kit. “It’s a paralytic. It’ll wear off in a couple of minutes, and then I can give you some Lycan.”   
Stiles nods, shrugging, tuning in to Talia and Scott’s conversation. He does not want to know what a Kanima could possibly be. 

“It’s a very tricky situation.” Talia is saying. Scott is biting his lip, looking worried and Stiles feels guilt churning in his gut. 

“I don’t see what’s so difficult about it.” Derek interrupts, rounding the table. “The Alpha Pack has given us our orders. Locate the Shuttle, find the criminals and bring them to Moon One.” Talia sighs, folding her hands delicately beneath her chin. 

“And normally, I would follow protocol but, this situation is different.” Talia sounds wary, as if she’s waiting for Derek to explode. 

She gets an explosion, but it’s not from Derek. 

There’s a blast that shakes the ship, and smoke pours into the room, followed by several people. Stiles recognises Erica and Boyd, who are both coughing, hands in front of their face. Everyone leaps into action, except Stiles and Scott, who remain seated at Laura’s warning look. 

Just as Derek reaches the door, a curly haired guy skids through it, colliding hard with Hale and toppling backwards. Derek snatches out a hand, grabbing his arm and pulling the boy upright. He looks about Stiles’ age, and although he’s covered in grease and dirt, his sleeves torn apart, his face is bright and excited. 

“The boiler exploded.” He says breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear. 

Everybody groans, and Derek shakes him. Stiles rubs his face, confused, and then feels pleased when he realises he can move his hands again. He celebrates by punching the air, regretting the move almost immediately when Derek turns to glare furiously at him. 

“Did you do this?” He snarls, letting go of the boy. 

“Oh yeah, absolutely.” Stiles says sarcastically. “You’ve caught me, I did it, I blew up your boiler.” Scott punches him in the shoulder, hissing a warning and Talia raises her hands. Everyone falls silent; Erica and Boyd go as far as to stop coughing. 

“This was obviously some kind of technical mistake.” She points to Derek, who physically deflates, still looking pissed off. 

“Boyd, go and check the cameras. Erica, did you finish setting up a perimeter?" Erica nods sharply. "Good, then I want a full crew count, any injuries taken care of immediately please.” Derek points to them each in turn, before rounding on the boy. Stiles doesn’t get a chance to ask for his bag before Boyd strides calmly out of the room, Erica at his heels. 

“Isaac, think you can explain what the hell happened?” Talia rolls her eyes at her son, looking remarkably like Laura for a second. Isaac, the curly haired boy, begins babbling on about engines and dials and stuff that Stiles doesn’t have a hope in hell of understanding. Isaac still looks extremely happy, almost maniacally so. 

“What’s up with him?” Stiles whispers to Laura, who smiles fondly at Isaac. 

“Nothing, he just really loves fixing things, and he's new to all of this. He’s our grease monkey on the ship.” Stiles doesn’t think there’s any way Isaac can hear them, but his cheeks turn pink anyway. 

“Okay, so, are you finished yet?” He gestures at the first aid kit, although his legs and back are still aching, as well as his forearms from Derek’s grip. 

“Nope.” Laura pops the P, pulling out a syringe and grinning at him. Stiles feels oddly faint. 

“That’s a needle.” He says, his voice wavering. 

“Yes it is.” Laura nods, tapping the needle in question. 

“Why is that a needle?” 

“I have to inject the Lycan or it won’t work. The healing properties don’t work unless it’s in the blood.”

Stiles is unconscious before Laura even finishes her sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They crash into the London Eye :D 
> 
> Oh and I feel kinda bad, I keep ending with Stiles passing out O_o 
> 
> Oh well. Hope you liked it! Let me know :)


	3. Aragog Ain't Got Nothing On These Babies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia is a queen, Jackson is a drama-queen, and there is a rather large battle that no one is prepared for. Literally. Like, only Lydia knows what she's doing. Stiles just goes along with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit my hands hurt from typing. I lost this chapter and had to re-type it :( Anyway, hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for the lovely responses :D The only warnings are for some violence, but its not very graphic, and big spiders for those of you who are scared of those (i feel you). Oh and Derek is a dick. Also, the amount of swearing kinda escalates! Love you all, please leave a comment and a kudos :) Happy Reading, people of earth!

“I can’t believe you fainted.” 

Scott is obviously delusional, because Stiles never faints, he just doesn’t, he’s way too masculine for that. 

“For the last time,” Stiles protests, crossing his arms and staring at the ceiling from his horizontal position on the sickbed, “I did not faint.” 

Scott hums, grinning widely, bearing stark resemblance to some kind of demented moon frog. “Then why were you on the floor?”

“The chair was uncomfortable.” 

“Your eyes were closed.”

“I was tired, okay?”

“Your face was all pale.” 

“My face is always pale. I have pale skin, Scott, okay?” Stiles hisses, sitting up and rearranging his pillows angrily. He flops back against them, ignoring Scott’s laughter. 

“Give it up, Stiles. There’s one sure way to tell when you’ve fainted.” Scott leans back on his chair, balancing precariously on two legs. 

I hope you fall on your face, Stiles thinks, glaring hard at the chair legs as if he can make them snap by sheer force of will. “Oh yeah? What’s that then? Enlighten me.” 

Scott grins, flashing his teeth. “You stop talking.” 

Stiles whips a pillow out from behind him and launches it at Scott, who deflects it easily, giggling like a little schoolgirl. 

“Really boys?” Talia Hale strides coolly into the sickbay, her shoes clicking against the tiles, a small indulgent smile on her lips. 

Scott splutters, coughing and dragging himself into an upright position. Stiles grins evilly at his best friend, before turning to face Talia.

“My apologies Ma’am. Scotty hasn’t quite worked out how to behave in society yet. We’re only halfway through his training.” Scott ignores him and Talia shakes her head, her smile only growing. 

“You two remind me of my own children. Always at each other’s throats, teasing and causing mischief but, in the end they were loyal to each other to a fault. The best of friends.” 

Scott beams like he’s impersonating a moon and Stiles goes red all over, trying to think of something to say that won’t sound incredibly cheesy. 

“We’re basically brothers,” Scott pipes up, chucking the pillow back at Stiles, who places it behind his head and leans back, making a big show of getting comfortable. Scott rolls his eyes and adds, “Although sometimes I wish we weren’t.” 

Stiles hides his frown at the words, wincing internally. He knows Scott doesn’t mean it, would never dream of leaving Stiles behind, the same way that Stiles wouldn’t be able to function without Scott as his friend. Still, Scott is only in this situation because of Stiles and the fact is; if they weren’t so close, Scott wouldn’t be in so much trouble because of him. 

Talia is incredibly perceptive, and she shots a little look at Stiles before standing up even straighter. Her face shifts, becoming serious and careful. 

“I came here to check on Stiles, but also to deliver some news.”

“Is it about us or the ship?” Stiles blurts, panic churning his gut, making him feel a little bit dizzy. He forces himself to take a deep breath. 

Talia inclines her head, her hands clasped calmly in front of her. “Both, in a way. The S.E Luna will not fly. Isaac and our technical crew were working on the boiler, before it became apparent that we simply don’t have the technology or supplies available to repair it.” 

Stiles very carefully keeps his face blank, void of the relief he can feel rushing through him. Scott looks concerned, leaning forward in his seat. 

“If you can’t fix it, then how are we supposed to get home?” 

The door to the sickbay slides open behind Talia, and Laura and Derek step through. Laura is wearing some kind of white suit that covers her entire body, leaving just her head visible. Derek is wearing his usual leather and frown combination. 

Surprisingly, Talia rolls her eyes as they step up to join her. 

“As I was saying, before I was unnecessarily interrupted, we are unable to fly home as of now, and several of our emergency pods were damaged in the explosion.”

Derek snorts, shaking his head and crossing his arms. 

“Something to add, Derek?” Laura inquires, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I still think its sabotage. It’s too much of a coincidence that the boiler, emergency pods and several comms systems all break down at the same time.” He puts his hands in his pockets, face utterly blank as he surveys the room. Talia doesn’t reply, but Laura rolls her eyes. 

“Hang on, your communication is down too?” Scott sounds worried, and Stiles doesn’t blame him. It’s one thing entirely for them to be stuck here with no ship, another thing entirely if they can’t communicate with home. 

“That does sound like too much of a coincidence.” Stiles admits, tilting his head to the side. Derek narrows his gaze, as if Stiles agreeing with him makes him even more suspicious. He turns to his mother and Stiles shares a worried look with Scott. 

“We shouldn’t even be discussing this with them. We should have put them straight in the cells. You might be old friends with their parents, but I’m still the captain around here, and no disrespect meant, but we’re not following orders or protocol at all.” 

Stiles swings his legs over the side of the bed, noticing gratefully that he’s still in his clothes. Scott leans forward to help him up, but Stiles bats away his hands, moving from the bed to the spare chair quickly, before he can get too dizzy. 

“The trouble is there isn’t exactly a protocol to follow.” Laura interjects, before Derek can press his point. “It’s kind of a unique situation.” She jerks her head at them, and Stiles feels Scott tense up beside him. The truth is, neither of them are exactly adverse in ‘protocol’, and not knowing what the S.E might do to them makes Stiles a little bit nervous. 

“Why? What exactly were your orders?” Scott asks, sitting up and staring earnestly at the Hales. Talia hesitates, before beckoning them forward. 

“Normally, I wouldn’t be indulging the two of you. Still, as my daughter said, this is a very unique situation. There will be a meeting in ten minutes in the same room you were first brought to, wherein we shall discuss the best course of action.”

Stiles sits up a bit straighter, ignoring Derek’s angry glare and Laura’s smug expression. Talia looks to be the one in control, despite what everyone else believes, and she at least seems to be thinking about including him and Scott. 

“There are clothes set aside for you in those drawers,” She nods to the cabinets on the far side of the sickbay, “And shoes, too. We’ll give you five minutes to change and then   
Laura will bring you to the meeting.” She nods once, sharply, before turning on her heel and exiting the room. Derek spends a few seconds glaring at them before stalking after her, Laura at his heels with a wicked smirk on her face. She waves to them both as the door slides shut. 

“Well,” Scott whistles lowly. “That was intense.” 

Stiles snickers, standing up and hauling himself over to the cabinets. There are drawers full of folded black material that feels stretchy and thin. He pulls a face at it before tossing a set to Scott. 

“How are you supposed to move in these?” Stiles asks, disgusted, as he pulls at the trousers. They’re not actually trousers, the material is too rough, almost like his dads denim uniform jacket, but Stiles has never seen anybody wearing denim trousers before. 

“They’re called jeans.” Scott huffs from behind him, struggling into a pair. “They’re supposed to be really comfortable, but they cost a lot of money.” 

“How do you know that?” It makes sense that he hasn’t seen them if they’re expensive, Stiles thinks, pulling on the black t-shirt. Moon Thirteen is one of the less luxurious Moons, where people live on basic necessities and basic pay. 

“Danny told me that Jackson has at least three pairs.” Scott tells him, voice muffled by his shirt. 

“Of course he does.” Stiles mutters, angrily yanking on his boots and tightening the straps. The shoes are a little tight, fitting snugly around the ankles and squishing his toes, but at least there are no laces to trip over. 

“You don’t look completely awful.” Scott says cheerily, clapping him on the shoulder and tugging him towards the exit. Stiles scoffs and pushes him through the door, grinning   
when Scott tumbles past Laura, who sidesteps him neatly. 

“You’ll do.” She says, eyeing them critically. Stiles rolls his eyes and makes a dramatic gesture. 

“Thank you for that overwhelming compliment.” 

Laura shoots him a grin, before prodding him in the back. “I’ve been told to treat you like the dangerous criminals that you apparently are, although I can’t find any evidence for that.” She holds up a little plastic box with some kind of metal device on the end. “This will knock you out cold, so no making a break for it.” 

Laura directs them through the ship, pointing out various rooms and crew members as they pass. Stiles thinks about pointing out how she’s just enabling two potential ship-thieves, but decides against it. For one thing, the little box looks kind of deadly in Laura’s hands, and for another, Stiles has no intention of stealing the Luna, especially since she can’t fly. 

They reach the meeting with minutes to spare, and Stiles gazes at the group with a kind of childlike awe. He hasn’t forgotten the way he used to watch the shuttles through the window, see the troops march through the Landing Hub in sleek black suits, waving at the crowds. He remembers pressing his face against the fence by the playground, sharing wide-eyed looks with Scott at their first glimpse of the Luna, towering over the milling Space Explorers. 

Scott nudges him in the side and they shuffle to the back of the room, leaning against the wall as subtly as possible. Erica glances at them from her seat near the front, throws a wink at Stiles before whipping around to face Talia and Derek. Talia smiles warmly at them before looking to Derek, who doesn’t acknowledge their presence. 

“As far as we know, the boiler is irreparable.” There’s a small, dry cough from Isaac, who Stiles notices belatedly is curled up awkwardly in one of the chairs on the right side of the table, seated next to a tall, slight girl with wavy dark hair and sharp cheekbones. Derek also looks to Isaac, who raises one eyebrow. 

Sighing, Derek continues. “The boiler can be repaired, but we don’t have the materials on board to fix it, so basically,” Derek glares pointedly at Isaac, who just shrugs, “The boiler is irreparable.” 

Erica snickers, prodding Boyd on the shoulder. Boyd doesn’t even turn around, but a couple of other crew members chuckle at Isaac’s innocent expression. 

“Our comms are down, so I don’t want any member of this crew working alone. You pair up, stick to your partner and if there’s trouble, use the portal systems.”

“They’re still working?” Erica asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

“No, I just told you to use them for fun. I like seeing my crew in danger.” Stiles supresses a smirk at Derek’s deadpan delivery. He elbows Scott, who’s too busy staring at Isaac’s   
neighbour with wide, puppy-dog eyes. 

“Dude, Scott.” Stiles waits for Scott to tear his eyes away before he continues whispering. “You’re drooling all over your new uniform.” 

Scott glares, huffing and crossing his arms. Stiles watches his face flush red before turning away, grinning in satisfaction. 

“We’ve set up a perimeter around the S.E. Luna, so don’t go farther than the flares unless you want to risk being eaten.” Derek finishes gruffly. He steps back, letting Laura take his place. She’s stripped out of the white suit, dressed in the same black kit as everyone else, barring a strip of bright red holding back her hair. 

“Thank you for that cheery handover, Derek, and now onto the fun stuff.” She grins at her audience, who chuckle a little. Talia rolls her eyes fondly and Derek scowls at the wall. 

“Now, as we are all very much aware, we’ve only visited this planet once before now- we don’t even know its name.” Stiles straightens up in shock, eyes wide in disbelief. He can feel Scott’s stare on the side of his face before he slouches down, hoping that nobody noticed his expression. Laura doesn’t notice, at least. “So, we need to be careful. It’s extremely likely that there are lots of creatures here, probably ones that want to take a bite out of us.” 

“It’s not as if we can’t handle it.” The dark-haired girl says airily, her bright eyes narrowed in focus. 

“A point to our resident hunter.” Laura announces cheerfully, flicking her fingers towards the girl. Erica smirks at her across the table, but the hunter ignores her. Scott gives a dreamy sigh from beside Stiles, who groans internally. 

“Still, we need to exercise reasonable caution.” Talia interjects softly, her voice projecting easily around the room. “We do not know what exists on this planet, so we can hardly hope to effectively fight anything off.” 

“That being said,” Laura adds, seizing back the spotlight, “We need supplies if we have to stay here, and our resident scientist has requested a list of items a mile long to try and get the comms up and running again.” She rolls her eyes, and the crew laughs along easily. Stiles wonders who the scientist is, and why the Space Explorers needed to bring them on a mission like this. 

Talia steps forward again, shooting Laura a quelling look. “Miss Martin has requested that we send a party of at least seven out to gather intel and search for supplies. Captain Hale has a list of those who will be accompanying him back to the Eye to search the surrounding area.”

“So, that’s Reyes, Boyd, Whittemore, Argent and Lahey.” Derek says gruffly, dismissing everyone else. “The rest of you get back to work.”

The room empties out gradually, crew members muttering uneasily to themselves as they filter through the steel doors. When the room is clear, there are a group of four still seated at the table, all of them sporting eager looks, except for Boyd, whose face is practically void of emotion. Derek leans over the table to talk quietly to his crew. Laura pouts for a few seconds at being ignored, before a narrow look slips over her face. She mutters something to Talia before gliding out of the room.

Stiles watches Talia shake her head in amusement, before sidestepping the group and approaching them. 

“I haven’t forgotten you two.” She smiles as she reaches them. Stiles catches the group glancing over at them before focusing on Derek, who keeps his eyes firmly on the table. 

“You didn’t bring us up in the meeting.” Stiles states slowly. Talia grins, wolf like, before nodding sharply. 

“Indeed I did not. I have plans for you two.” 

“Nobody else brought us up either.” Stiles adds, slowly coming to conclusions. “Where do the rest of the crew think we are?”

Talia’s smile gets brighter, pleased. “They believe you’re in the cells. I have one guard posted outside the door who is well aware of the situation.”

“Won’t the crew realise who we are if they see us wandering around?” Scott says, looking confused. 

“They would,” Talia acknowledges with a nod, “If you were staying on the ship.”

Stiles stares at the woman in front of him with a dawning sense of respect and realisation. “We’re going with them?” He points to the table. Erica and Isaac are bickering back and forth as she gestures sharply at his neck, where a black scarf is wrapped tightly around it. Boyd is sharing commiserating looks with Captain Hale, who looks ready to rip his hair out and Argent, the hunter, has pulled out a set of glinting metal points and is spreading them out on the table, brushing away lint.

“Yes,” Talia watches the group for a few seconds with a raised eyebrow, looking fondly exasperated. “I realise it might not look like it, but they are the best at what they do. They are all extremely professional. You’ll be in completely safe hands.”

At that moment, Erica launches herself across the table at Isaac, seizing his scarf with both hands and tugging at it with a snarl. Isaac lets out a high-pitched shriek and topples backwards off of his chair. Argent grins, Boyd rolls his eyes and Derek puts his head in his hands. 

“I think I’d be happier in the cells.” Scott whispers faintly, and Stiles can’t help but agree. 

 

“I don’t understand something.” Scott says with a frown. They’re standing just outside the ship, watching as some of the crew mills around them, fastening bags and double checking lists. 

“Colour me surprised.” Stiles says dryly, ducking Scott’s punch. He watches a small man scurry past with armfuls of weapons and wonders what exactly they expect to encounter out there. 

Observing the crew, Stiles is very strongly reminded of the anthill he found growing under his Dad’s desk last year. A flurry of little blue ants had crawled in through a crack in the white plastic of the wall and built a home around the legs of his Dad’s desk. It had taken some careful skill and a lot of rubber gloves, but Stiles had eventually managed to move the anthill from his house to the school, where he’d shoved it inside Harris’ stationary cupboard. 

It had been an interesting morning lesson, to say the least. 

“What I mean,” Scott says pointedly, still frowning, “Is that I don’t understand Talia.” 

Stiles turns away, shoving his hands in his pocket as he cocks an eyebrow at his best friend.

“We’re criminals, Stiles. Actual, real-life criminals, even if I didn’t actually commit any crimes.” He throws Stiles a dirty look when he laughs, but Stiles can’t help it- Scott just sounds so dramatic.

“Sorry, Scotty.” He says hastily, trying to look appropriately attentive. Scott doesn’t appear fooled though, since he just crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. “No, seriously, what were you trying to say? Other than the fact that you’re an innocent victim of my criminal ways.” 

“Well, I am innocent,” Scott sniffs, “But that wasn’t my point.”

“Hmmm?” Stiles says vaguely, eyeing an argument that appears to be happening between Derek and a young, petite woman in the ship entranceway. “Ow!” He rubs the back of his head, glaring balefully at his not-so-best-friend. 

“You’re not listening to me.” Scott hisses through his teeth, looking thoroughly annoyed. Stiles feels guilt stir in his gut. Most of it stems from the fact that Scott really is innocent, and Stiles really did drag him on this trip, even if it wasn’t knowingly. The least he can do is listen to him. 

“Sorry, I got caught up with admiring the view.” He waves a hand Derek and the girl, before focusing entirely on Scott, looking contrite. 

“I was trying to ask you why the hell they’re treating us so nicely.” Scott grumbles. “In the Alpha Packs eyes, we really are criminals. We stole a high priority shuttle, but we’re not even in a cell.” Scott waves his arms around in disbelief and Stiles flails, tries to shush him. 

“Keep your voice down! Someone might hear you.” He makes a what-the-fuck gesture at Scott, who immediately turns red, sheepish. 

“Sorry, I forgot. But still, why are they doing this? We haven’t been threatened, or warned about how much trouble we’re in. We haven’t been locked up or shouted at. They actually took care of us, and got us food and clothes. Now we’re going on a scouting mission with the Captain and the rest of the crew.”

Stiles shrugs, frowning. He’s thought about it, wondered why they weren’t being treated worse, wondered why the others had actually been kind, and cared for them. It doesn’t make much sense. “I don’t know. I mean, Talia said she knew my parents, maybe that’s got something to do with it?” It doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel like enough of an explanation. 

Scott nods slowly, bites at his lip. “Maybe. I guess that could be it. Still, we should keep an ear out, in case we hear anything important.” 

Stiles grins, bumping their shoulders together. “Absolutely, good plan McCall.”

“Thanks Stilinski.” Scott rolls his eyes, bumps back with a smile.

There’s a clatter from the ship and they swivel, watch in bewilderment as the woman from before screeches shrilly at Derek, pointing one hand down the slope of the gangplank. Several shiny silver poles and discs tumble down the slope, bashing and clanging together. They land in a tangled heap on the brick floor at the bottom and the woman continues to screech. She looks severely pissed off, a ripped backpack clutched in her other hand. 

Erica saunters over to them, lips slick with newly applied red gloss. Her hair is tied back out of her face and she’s taking bog bites of something red. 

“What’s that?” Stiles says, nodding at her hand. Erica lowers her hand, holds the thing out for him to take. 

“Try it, it’s a sweet.”   
He raises an eyebrow, tugs at it with his teeth. It tastes sweet, slightly squishy in the middle. “S’good.” He mumbles around a mouthful, chewing carefully. He’s never had a sweet before. 

“Keep it. I have a whole pack.” She pats her pocket, which rustles slightly, her lip curling up in a smirk. “Enjoying the scene?” She nods at the door, where Derek has his eyes closed against the red-headed woman’s hissed words. Stiles is very glad that he can’t make out any actual words. He feels a bit bad for Derek, even if the guy is a dick. 

“Who is that?” Scott asks curiously, tilting his head. 

“That’s Lydia Martin. We picked her up on Moon Three, a couple of years ago. Highest IQ in our entire academic system. She’s been our scientist for the past two years. She’s the one who made that Lycan serum.” 

Stiles is impressed and it must show on his face because Erica snorts. 

“She’s taken, before you even think about it.”

Scott actually laughs, a loud, bright sound that makes startles Erica. She stares at Scott in confusion, before huffing and beckoning them to follow her. Stiles side-eyes his friend, who’s still chuckling for some reason. 

“And people say I’m insane.” Stiles says dryly.

They head over to the slope, where Derek greets them with a scowl. Lydia sniffs indignantly, marching down the slope to join them at the base. Behind her, Stiles sees Derek throw up his hands and has to hide his grin. 

“Who are you?” Lydia looks them up and down with sharp eyes. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, strawberry blonde curls tumbling free of their braids. 

“Stiles.” He says, giving a little half-wave before lowering it hastily when Lydia looks at him in disdain. 

“I’m Scott.” Beaming, Scott gestures to the floor. “Do you need help picking these up?” 

“No, thank you. I don’t want you to mess anything up. It’s all extremely vital scientific equipment.” 

“Oh.” Scott stops beaming, looks to Erica for help. Erica snorts and tosses her head.

“Lydia dislikes people messing with her one true love.” Erica drawls, looking bored. “Science.”

“Actually, my one true love is mathematics.” Lydia shoots back, turning on her heel and storming back up the slope. Derek moves smoothly out of her way, practically shrinking into the shadows. He walks down the slope towards them, face inscrutable, body language screaming do not approach me. 

“We’re leaving in five. Lydia’s gone to get another bag. She’ll be joining us as well.”

Erica laughs gleefully. “This should be fun.” 

Isaac appears at Erica’s shoulder, sly grin in place and a new scarf, a red one this time, wrapped around his neck. Erica glares at it as if the sight personally offends her. 

“I don’t know why you bothered arguing. She always ends up coming with us.” Isaac says, shrugging carelessly. 

Stiles shifts awkwardly on his feet. He’d been given the Lycan Serum while he was passed out, but there’s still a residual ache in his bones from so many crashes in such a short time. All of his cuts have healed up though, which is a bonus. 

“There is no need for her to accompany us.” Derek says stiffly. “I’m the Captain, she should follow my orders.”

Isaac sniggers.

“None of us follow your orders Derek, it’s just a fact of life. Embrace it, accept it and you might be much less of a misery guts.” Erica grins unrepentantly, pulling another sweet out of her pocket. Isaac’s hand strays towards it, but Erica slaps it away. 

“People who wear scarves when it is not cold do not get sweets.” She hisses. 

“That’s discrimination.” Isaac snaps back.

“Shut up.” Derek growls. “And start walking. The rest of them are here.” He jerks his head towards the door of the ship, where several people have gathered, Lydia and Laura among them. 

“Oh no.” Scott groans suddenly, voice filled with horror. “Please, tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

Stiles winces, contemplates not turning around because whoever can make Scott sound like that is not someone he wants to look at, let alone go on a scouting mission with.   
He turns around anyway, lets out an identical groan to Scott’s and looks desperately for something to strangle himself with. He wonders if Isaac would mind if he borrows his scarf. 

“Afraid so, buddy.” He pats Scott on the shoulder in commiseration. 

“Who?” Erica asks, looking intrigued and slightly wicked. 

“Jackson Whittemore.” 

Scott lets out a little moan at the name and drags his hands through his hair, looking miserable. Isaac glances at him, clearly alarmed. 

“Ah.” Erica actually looks sympathetic, which, in the short time he’s known her, is not an expression Stiles thought she was capable of. “Yeah, he can be a bit… difficult to get along   
with. But wait, how do you two know him?” 

“I told you to start walking.” Derek grits out. He places two hands on Erica’s shoulders and physically turns her around, frogmarching her away from the shape. He ignores her protests, which gradually turn into curses. 

“You’re Isaac, right? The mechanic?” Stiles tunes back into Scott’s conversation in time to see Isaac blush a faint pink. It makes him look somewhat adorable, paired with the lanky frame and the mass of curls. He nods a little, murmurs something inaudible before darting away after Derek and Erica. 

“What did I say?” Scott asks him. Stiles shrugs, hiding a smile and a suspicion. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here before Jackson spots us.” 

“He’s coming with us, Stiles, I don’t think we can do much to stop him noticing us.”

“Yeah, I know, but we can prolong the torture.” Stiles reaches out and grabs Scott’s belt, dragging him towards their backpacks, which are being checked by a few straggling crew members. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says cheerily, accepting the bag off of the girl. She smiles, before frowning and eyeing him up and down. 

“I don’t recognise you. Are you new around here?” 

Stiles feels his eyes widen before he relaxes, shrugging his bag into place and strapping it tight. “Yeah, something like that. Got a relative in the S.E.” 

“Really?” She tucks her hair behind her ear as Stiles resists the urge to flee. “Who is it? I might know him.” 

“Just, uh, my cousin. Miguel. I don’t think you’ll know him, he’s very shy.” 

He does flee then. Scott follows at a more sedate pace and snickers at his back, shouldering his own pack. 

Eventually, they’re all gathered at the edge of the ships’ landing space. Stiles takes a second to look around. He frowns at the steps a little further away from him, the white brick floor and the large, metal shapes lying near the back of the ship, shapes that are at least twice the size of him and covered in green moss. 

“What do you reckon this place used to be called?” Stiles calls to Scott. Scott stumbles back from where he’s been drifting towards Argent. The girl hasn’t even noticed, simply carries on clicking her flight pack into place. Stiles eyes her resentfully; his backpack doesn’t come with the flight pack feature. 

“What do you mean?” Scott frowns, following Stiles’ gaze. 

“Derek said the circle we landed in used to be called an Eye. I was just wondering what this place used to be called.” 

Scott shrugs. 

“What makes you think it has a name?” Lydia inquires, stepping forward from the group. Stiles starts in surprise- he thought she’d been behind them, putting her equipment in her bag. “I made Jackson put my things away.” She adds, answering his unasked question. She looks pointedly at him, eyebrows lifted as if to say ‘I answered you, now you answer me.’

Stiles coughs a little, clearing his throat. “Well, there are obvious signs of civilisation here. And im guessing you got the name ‘the Eye’ from the people who lived here before, so I’m going to take a wild guess and say that they also gave names to everything else on Ea- on their planet.” He stops himself in time, clamping his lips shut firmly. Lydia gazes at him as if he’s a problem that she inexplicably can’t solve, a puzzle with a piece missing. 

“This planet,” She puts a heavy emphasis on the words that let Stiles know she caught his slip up, “Has always been uninhabited. It seems impossible, when you take into account the considerable signs of life.” She gestures airily around them, unaware of the way the rest of the group have gathered around. “Still, we’ve run extensive tests on the ground and soil, and on other chemical substances we’ve found on our voyage here, but there’s no trace of intelligent life.”

Stiles stays silent, looks quickly at Scott and then away again. He can’t afford to let them know, can’t afford to give anything away until he’s found it, until he’s found his mother’s secret. The thought gives him pause, and he straightens up, looking for Boyd. He spots him standing behind Erica and flails, waving his arms round in a move that startles the rest of them, barring Scott, who is way too used to Stiles by now. 

“My books!” He blurts out, before hurrying to elaborate. “Do you have the books that were in my bag?” 

Boyd gives him a dry look, nods, and then gestures to Stiles’ back. “I put them in your pack. Don’t take them out now, they’re right at the bottom.” 

“We don’t have time for this.” Derek interrupts Stiles’ exclamation or relief and gratitude, turning on his heel. “We need to move out.” 

“Jackson’s still by the ship.” Lydia starts, but Derek cuts over her, already marching away, hand typing away at a small device on his wrist. Now that Stiles is looking, he can see one on all of their wrists, except for his and Scott’s. 

“He’ll have to walk fast then, won’t he?” 

 

The device has to be some kind of transporter, Stiles decides. It takes less than seconds for them to round the corner and arrive in the same street that Boyd and Derek had marched him through. It was only less than twelve hours ago and yet it feels as if they’ve been on earth for weeks. 

“That was quick.” Scott remarks in surprise. In front of them, the hunter turns around, walking backwards with a coordinated ease that Stiles envies. She shoots them both fleeting, shy smiles that brighten her whole face, and Stiles feels Scott melt beside him. 

“It’s called a portal system. It’s quite technical in theory, but easy for us to use.” She explains, moving to walk beside them. Her voice is sweet, lilting softly. “The safety lines that we set up around the ship are connected to the devices on our wrists. Captain Hale has the remote that switches all of the portals on and off. If either the safety lines or Captain Hales’ remote breaks, then none of the portals will work outside of the ship. I’m Allison, by the way.”

“That’s clever,” Scott says, grinning over at her. 

“It is,” Stiles adds, “But it’s also stupid.” 

Allison looks surprised, but Scott just sighs. “Why do you say that?” She asks. 

“Derek’s your Captain, yes? So he’s a pretty big target for any bad guy with half a brain. He’s also powerful, which most predators can recognise and take advantage of. It just seems stupid to give the remote to someone who has a higher chance of being attacked. If it breaks, you’ll be down one more way of keeping everyone alive.” 

“Not bad, Stilinski, for someone with the brainpower of a lettuce leaf.” Jackson shoulders past him, knocking him sideways into Scott. Scott steadies him with a hand on his arm and glares forcefully after Jackson. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles pats Scott’s arm. “That was the weakest comparison anyone’s ever made, and I think he knows it.” 

Scott smiles slightly, shakes his head and turns back to Allison. She gives him a slightly confused smile, but a smile nonetheless. They walk for a little while longer, Lydia throwing glances back at the three of them, although they mostly linger on Stiles. Stiles would be flattered, but there’s something about Lydia’s gaze that makes him feel about an inch high. Eventually, she glides up to the front of the procession and walks next to Derek, her head tilted forward to hide her expression. 

“We’re almost there.” Derek calls back, after a few minutes. “We need to isolate a safe space to conduct an energy scan, see if there’s anything inhabiting this area.” He’s stopped next to Lydia in the middle of the street, and they appear to be fiddling with their sleeves.

“I’ve already told you,” Lydia snaps impatiently, “This place is completely uninhabit-”

Isaac yells out from the front of the group, leaping backwards in time to avoid a cascade of bricks from one of the buildings lining the street. Erica lets out a strangled sound and staggers back into Derek, while Isaac rolls around on the floor, scrambling to his feet. 

“Something tells me that Lydia might be wrong.” Stiles breathes, as something large, black, hairy and very much alive bursts out of the newly-made gap and scuttles down the building. 

“What the hell is that?” Scott yells, as everyone scrambles around. 

“Get in here now!” Allison yells back, grabbing Scott’s arm and waving frantically at Stiles to follow her. She drags them to the nearest building and shoves them through the door, which gives way under their combined weight. 

Stiles lands half on top of Scott, both sprawled on the floor. He coughs, dirt and dust billowing in the air around them. He hears Allison whisper something, but another yell from outside drowns it out. 

“You okay?” Scott whispers, pushing them both up. “What was that?”

“No idea, looked kind of familiar though.” Stiles can’t quite work out why, but he remembers seeing it somewhere. 

Scott looks at him wildly, eyebrows wiggling like crazy. “Why the hell would that thing look familiar to you? We don’t exactly have them back home.” Stiles makes shushing gestures with his hands, grabs Scott’s arm to pull him over to the nearest window. It’s boarded up, but there are cracks in the wood that they can peer through.

“There’s Derek.” Stiles whispers, keeping his voice low. Derek darts backwards through the street, holding something that looks like a fancier version of his dad’s force gun. He shouts for Erica to move, which makes Stiles cringe wondering where she is, before he fires. Two thin streams of blue shoot from the gun, crackling through the air. 

"Where’s everyone else?” Scott says back, eyes dancing back and forth. Stiles presses his face up against the board, catches a glimpse of Boyd as he flies forward into the action, spots Isaac crouched in a small dark alleyway beside Lydia and Jackson. He can’t see Allison, but he can definitely hear Erica snarling. 

Something shifts behind them. Stiles stiffens, ears practically twitching as small scuffling sounds echo through the dank, dark building. He can hear clicking, and a quick glance at Scott shows that he can too. They turn as one in time to see something monstrous shuffle forward through the building. 

It looms above them, twice their size. Stiles holds his breath, the taste of musk and dirt and fear filling his mouth. The thing clicks its pincers, two sharp sets on either side of its face, which is covered in purple spines. Eight eyes gleam in the faint light that seeps in from the cracks in the boarded up window. 

“On my signal,” Scott breathes, “Run to the left.” Stiles nods breathlessly, trying to keep still. His eyes flit from the mass of hairy legs that are moving ever closer, to the silver webbing that sticks to its black fur. 

“Ready?” Stiles nods, notes the way the muscles in the creatures legs tense. “Now.”

The monster springs forward, and Stiles dives to the left, landing roughly on the broken door. His breath catches and he coughs, scrambling shakily to his feet. There’s a crack as the thing collides with the window, pincers digging into the wood and staying there. It shakes, legs clambering for purchase as it tries to break free. 

Scott sprints around the other side of the monster, having dived right when Stiles went left. He looks wild, hair flying out as he runs. Scott digs his fingers into Stiles’ arm and drags him out of the building, both of them wincing in the sudden light. 

The street is in disarray, broken bricks and dust littering the ground. There are scorch marks on the walls and along the floor from the gun in Derek’s hand, which he’s still firing at the other creature. Suddenly, something jolts in Stiles memory. 

“Spiders.” He blurts, eyes wide in shock. Scott either ignores him, or doesn’t hear, because his only response is to drag them forward into the chaos.

“There are more of them!” Scott shouts, throwing one hand out behind him to emphasise his point. His voice is barely audible over the blasts of the guns, the monsters’ snarls and the crack of brick against brick. 

Derek whips around in surprise, but his gun stays pointed at the spider. His face shifts into something utterly terrifying; he looks furious. Stiles shivers in fear. It’s the first time that Stiles has been genuinely afraid of the Captain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Derek bellows, pausing to shoot another stream of blue fire at the spider. “Get back to safety.” 

“It’s not exactly safe in there!” Stiles roars back, finding his voice at last. Derek glances to where Stiles is pointing and his eyes go wide. The spider is thrashing at the window, sharp pincers ripping through the wood. 

Scott drags them forward again, setting off at a run towards the alleyway where Lydia is kneeling. Jackson and Isaac aren’t there anymore, and Stiles searches frantically until he spots them, standing in a loose semi-circle with Erica and Boyd around the spider. They all have guns in their hands, and Isaac’s curls are matted with blood. 

Lydia beckons them forward impatiently, wincing imperceptibly as Jackson dodges a swipe from one of the spider’s legs. 

“Quickly, get in here.” 

They crouch down in the alley, panting harshly and turn to watch the fight. 

“How many more were in that building?” She snaps, digging through her bag. Stiles holds his hands out instinctively to take the things that she pulls out, keeps one eye on Derek.   
The man looks impossibly small in front of the spiders, his shoulders tense as he moves into an offensive stance. The spider in the window is almost free, and Stiles hears Derek yell to Boyd for back-up. 

“Just the one that we saw,” Scott huffs, “But there could be lots more. There are loads of these buildings all around us.” It’s true, and it’s not a comforting thought, but Stiles is too busy eyeing Scott in concern to worry about that. 

“Scott, buddy, do you have your inhaler with you?” He asks urgently, shifts to look at Scott, whose eyes are blown wide in panic. He shakes his head jerkily. Stiles internally kicks himself, before taking a long slow breath. 

“Okay, Scott, don’t panic, okay? You’re going to be fine, just take some nice deep breaths through your nose.”

“He’s asthmatic?” Lydia hisses, her eyes flaring with anger. “Why the hell didn’t you warn us?” Stiles ignores her, trying desperately to calm Scott down before it evolves into a full blown attack. In all the excitement, Stiles had completely forgotten about his friends asthma, which is ridiculous, especially since Stiles always carries a spare inhaler in his bag at home. But he hasn’t thought Scott was going to be with him, so of course he hadn’t packed it. 

“Hang on,” Lydia says, rifling through a pocket on the side of her bag. “I have an idea.” She pulls out a syringe and fiddles about with a bottle of liquid, attaching the needle and flicking the syringe twice to dispel air bubbles. Stiles cringes away, before looking at Scott instead. He tries to ignore the sounds from the fight beside him, notices with some relief that Boyd and Isaac are working with Derek now. The first spider looks close to dropping, and Erica and Jackson don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. 

Scott makes a small, pained noise and Stiles snaps back to him, only to look away when he sees the needle in Scott’s arm. 

“It’s Lycan Serum.” Lydia says quickly, cleaning the wound efficiently. “It should stop your attack.” They wait for a few tense seconds, before Scott’s breathing gets noticeably easier.   
He sags into Stiles, murmuring “thank you’s’’ to Lydia. Lydia nods, before her eyes narrow. 

“You’re stronger now. You could help them.” She jerks her head behind them and Stiles sits up straight, a bolt of dread shooting through him. He doesn’t want Scott out there, doesn’t want his best friend hurt. Scott hesitates for a second before his face goes smooth. He gets to his feet, taking deep lungful’s of air. 

“What about you two?” Scott says, throws them a concerned look. His gaze lingers on Stiles, and Stiles wants to shout at him, tell him not to be stupid. Scott doesn’t have any training, isn’t practiced at fighting, especially not giant fucking spiders with teeth and pincers that may or may not be poisonous. 

“We’ll be fine.” Lydia utters. “Stiles is going to help me with a little experiment.” Stiles doesn’t bother arguing with that, although he has no idea what she means. He can’t exactly fight as well, not without the Lycan, and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to pass out in the middle of a battlefield.

Scott nods once, looking unsure, before moving to run out. 

“Wait,” Stiles ignores the crack in his voice, just casts his eyes at the junk falling out of Lydia’s bag. “You’ll need a weapon.” He grabs the nearest deadly looking thing, which looks simple but powerful. Stiles has no idea what it does, but Lydia nods approvingly, and Stiles just hopes it packs enough of a punch to keep his best friend alive.   
Scott grabs it, squeezes Stiles’ shoulder once and then dashes off towards Derek. Stiles doesn’t wait to see Derek’s reaction, can’t bear the thought of watching Scott fight, so he just turns sharply to Lydia and raises an eyebrow. 

“I was working on something in the lab.” Lydia starts, pulling out a handful of small metal tubes and a long reel of wire. “These will emit a high-pitched frequency wave when connected by this wire. We won’t be able to hear it, so it won’t affect us, but it should be enough to knock the monsters out. It kills most insects, which these are, but I hadn’t accounted for size.” She purses her lips, looking annoyed with herself.

“They’re not insects, they’re arachnids.” Stiles murmurs, takes one of the tubes. There’s a blast from behind him and he winces, but doesn’t turn to look. Lydia gives him a sharp, knowing look that pierces right through him. 

“It should work just as well though,” He adds hurriedly, glossing over the slip. “What do you need me to do?”

She looks at him for a second longer, before another blast and a long snarl shakes her into action. “I have to set up the calculations from here on the control. I need you to take my portal and place these flares in the ground, and thread the wire through each one.” She strips the portal device off of her wrist, fixes it to Stiles’. He realises absentmindedly how dirty he is, skin streaked with dust and grime from the air. 

“How do I control it? How do I know where to stick the flares?” Stiles can feel himself shaking, tries desperately to get himself under control. He hears someone swear behind them, a voice that sounds Boyd’s. Lydia’s face twists into something grim, eyes flicking behind Stiles. “There are more of them. You need to go now. The portal will take you to each point, I’ve set the coordinates. Just stick the flares in the ground wherever you land and then press the blue button.” 

He stands up, nodding and shoving the equipment in his pockets. The portal is heavy on his wrist, and looks different to the one Allison was wearing. Lydia is still gripping one of the tubes in her hands, and she stabs it into the ground in front of them. Stiles watches in shock as it cleaves through the brick pavement, leaving a short crack in the ground. The tube shoots up, digging itself in place and flashing at the tip. Stiles scrambles for the wire and makes the mistake of turning around. 

The first spider is on its side, dead, but three more are crawling forward out of the building, legs sliding fluidly across the ground. Jackson is pulling Erica to her feet, wiping blood out of his eyes. Stiles doesn’t dare look at the other spider, although he can hear Derek roaring. 

Lydia snatches the reel of wire from him and loops it through a hole in the first flare. It ties itself, and she shoves the reel back at him. Stiles can feel the wire thrumming in his hands. 

“Where’s Allison?” He mumbles. 

“On the roof, shooting arrows.” Lydia says shakily. Stiles sees a little silver strips glinting all across the floor and nods, thinking of the arrowheads in the meeting room. “Now, go. It’s Mountain Ash Wire, it won’t run out. Just thread it and portal, it’ll join itself up. Now, for the love of God, just go.” She yells the last bit and Stiles slams his hand onto the blue button, fingers gripping the wire.

He expects to feel sick, expects some kind of sensation, but there’s nothing. One second he’s staring at a street, searching for Scott amongst the clouds of dust, feeling the ground shake under his feet. The next, he’s staring at a brick wall. There’s no noise, no spiders, just a warm heat on the back of his neck. Stiles guesses that’s the sun, but can’t muster up the same excited enthusiasm at feeling something his mum used to tell him about. 

He springs into action suddenly, fumbling for a tube and pulling it out of his pocket. He smacks it point first into the ground, feeling the ground give way beneath it easily. There’s barely any resistance at all. The flare flashes at him and he threads the wire through it, jolting in surprise when he sees that it’s no longer all on the reel. There’s a long line of it stretching out to his left. He supposes that’s the direction he came in. 

The wire snaps into place and Stiles activates the portal, wondering why the rest of them didn’t just portal away from the spiders. He resolves to ask Derek later, if they make it out alive. Hell, Stiles really hopes they make it out alive. 

Stiles blinks in surprise as water seeps into his shoes, soaking his feet instantly. It laps around his knees, and Stiles lets out a small, disgusted sound. He gazes out across the ocean, before remembering his time limit and pressing the tube into the water. He has to kneel down, keeping a tight grip on the instrument as he lowers it into the sand beneath the sea. He can see the bottom of the Eye several hundred feet away. Somehow, it’s even more intimidating when he’s not trapped inside of it. 

There’s only one more flare left, and Stiles portals quickly, landing face down in some grass. He can hear the fighting a lot clearer now, lots of shouts and explosions. Stiles spits dirt out of his mouth, runs a tongue along his teeth. There’s a small cut on his lip from a stray rock on the ground, but he ignores it, pushing himself up onto his knees. The tube sinks easily into the dirt, and Stiles sighs in relief, even if it isn’t all over yet. 

There’s a familiar click from behind him and Stiles drops the wire, curses and shifts around. 

This spider is smaller than the rest, about half the size of Stiles, but a deep purple colour. Stiles thinks fleetingly of poison and crabwalks backwards until his back hits the flare. The metal digs into his spine as he drags his hands through the grass, searching for the reel without taking his eyes off of the arachnid in front of him. It clicks menacingly, opening and closing its pincers. 

“Hey there,” He says hoarsely, fingers still scrabbling at the dirt. “How’s it going? I think you might be lost dude, the rest of your little clan are back there, you know.” His fingernails   
scrape against something solid and Stiles bites back a relieved sound. The spider pauses at the sound of his voice.

Stiles creeps backwards, blathering inanely, hand wrapped tight around the reel. The spider crawls forward at the same speed, clicking and hissing, each of its eight eyes blinking beadily at him. Stiles glances at the flare, which is now in front of him. He threads the wire through it with small, careful movements, trying desperately not to spook the creature into jumping. He doesn’t have a weapon, nothing to fight back with if the spider does decide to take a bite out of him. He really doesn’t want to find out if it is poisonous. 

It’s then that he realises that he might have a small problem. 

The spider is on the other side of the flare. It’s behind the wire, which means it’s outside of the trap that Lydia’s making, which means it won’t go ka-put like all the other spiders hopefully will once Lydia waves her magic wand. 

Okay, so he might have a big problem. 

“Right, so, problem.” The spider doesn’t answer, obviously, but it does do Stiles half a favour and fucking launch itself forward, jumping and snapping. Stiles yelps and rolls to the side, leaping to his feet and shoving the reel in his pocket. 

Something hits him in the back of the neck, something sticky and heavy that throws him forward. He staggers, manages to right himself and spins around. He can feel the substance dripping down his neck, thick like paste and seeping through his t-shirt. The spider advances on him, silver threads clinging to its face and trailing across the grass. 

It’s on the right side of the wire.

Stiles raises his wrist to hit the portal button and the spider hisses, silver webbing spraying out across Stiles. It covers the portal device, sticks to his neck and chest and arms, fizzes slightly against his skin. He bashes frantically at the portal, manages to press the button through the layers of webbing and portals just as the spiders spits something purple at him. 

He lands in the dirt next to Lydia with his arm on fire on and a cry of pain on his lips. Lydia gasps, swallows a shriek and crawls towards him. Stiles coughs slightly, looks down at his arm to see it coated with the purple spider spit.

“Oh, that’s disgusting.” Stiles chokes out, before pressing the wire into Lydia’s hand with his own, shaking fingers. “And it hurts like a bitch.” He adds, grits his teeth against the pain as Lydia attaches the wire to the first flare. The wire hums, vibrating lightly. Stiles pushes himself up onto his elbows, cradles his arm against his sticky shirt. He hisses through his teeth, little shocks of pain running up his wrist to his shoulder. 

Lydia spares a glance for his arm, winces and makes a small, sympathetic sound. “Wait a second, I just have to…” She jabs erratically at some kind of remote control. “There! It’s active.” She watches the flare intently and it glows bright blue. The wire hums louder. 

Stiles snaps his head up to stare at the street, and watches at the group back away, mouths open in confusion as the spiders curl in on themselves, twitching and shuddering in silence. There are at least nine of them, and Stiles watches as each one collapses to the ground, dropping down one by one to join the rest of the fallen spiders. 

With no one moving, the dust settles, and aside from a few crumbling edges of the buildings, nothing makes a sound. 

Derek frowns, lowers his gun and the rest of them follow suit. “Is everyone alright?” 

There are muttered affirmatives, a few groans of pain, but Stiles can see that they’re not grievously injured, aside from some scrapes and aches. Scott is panting, leaning against a wall, but Isaac’s hand is on his shoulder and he looks unharmed. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, sitting up properly.

Lydia moves to help him, one hand clutching at his shoulder as he folds his legs underneath him. His lower half is still wet from his dip in the lake, and his legs itch from where the material’s half dried. He’d rather not look at his arm, but it stings uncomfortably. 

“What happened to you? You were gone for longer than I thought it would take.” Stiles explains his conflict with the spider, confides in the possibility of it being poisonous. She doesn’t ask how he knows about them, just pokes and prods at his arm with gentle, clinical touches, and listens carefully.

Allison jogs into view from an alley opposite the street, which Stiles guesses has access to the roof. She checks the group gathered in the centre of the area, before she frowns. Stiles can’t hear what they’re all saying, but he can see the way they suddenly realise who’s missing. Jackson wheels around immediately, and Stiles quirks an eyebrow in surprise. 

“Didn’t know you and Whittemore were a thing.” He mutters quietly. Lydia looks up abruptly from where she’s examining his arm, face pale but hands steady. She looks over to Jackson, rolls her eyes at the way he’s barrelling across the street and ducks her head again. 

“We’re not, not anymore.” She says, equally as quietly. Stiles thinks he can see a small smirk on her face, but it’s gone in a flash. 

“Stiles! Man, did you see that?” Scott’s excited voice breaks through the cloud of fog around Stiles’ brain. Stiles grins a little, shrugs his shoulders and squints up at the group that’s cramped together in the alleyway. They’re all punching each other’s shoulders, faces alight with adrenaline and triumph.

“What happened?” Derek says sharply, cutting across Jackson and Erica’s crows of victory. The noises die out, and Stiles slumps a little. 

“Stiles?” Scott says worriedly, voice wavering. He steps forward, kneels down in a flurry of movement and inhales harshly. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you were safe here!” 

“We kept all of the monsters away from you.” Erica frowns, placing her hands on her hips. 

“Yeah, but Stilinski is a magnet for trouble. Hewas probably trying to be useful and tripped over his own feet.” Jackson sneers down at him. Stiles opens his mouth to tell Jackson where to go, when Lydia lets out an inhumane screech. She leaps up, grabs the nearest piece of equipment and hurls it straight at Jackson with a cry of outrage. 

“Keep your mouth shut, Jackson.” She snarls, before whirling to face Derek. “We have a big problem.” 

She starts explaining their part in all of this, talks quickly and efficiently over everyone who tries to interrupt. She throws Scott a cutting glare when he tries to speak up and Stiles grins against the tiredness he feels. He hadn’t done half as much physical work as the rest of them, but he still feels drained. 

There’s a full minute of stunned silence when she finishes, before Derek opens his mouth. 

“So, essentially, you stupidly risked both of your lives on a scheme that may not have actually worked.” 

Lydia’s face fills up with blood, her tiny knuckles clenching into fists. 

“You missed the part,” Stiles says sarcastically, “Where we both saved all of your asses and I got an armful of poison for it. But yeah, no, essentially, you are correct Captain.” He gives a mock salute with his good hand, before flipping Derek the bird. 

Derek growls, grinds his teeth before he takes a step back and visibly composes himself. “We’ll talk about this when we get back to the ship.” 

The rest of the crew shift uneasily around them, as if they’re not sure whether to be grateful to them or follow Derek’s lead. In the end, Erica scoffs, Isaac stays mute, Boyd crosses his arms in defiance and Jackson pouts, rubbing his shoulder from where Lydia’s projectile hit him. 

Lydia clears her throat, tilts her chin up defensively. Allison darts forward, puts an arm around the girl, who smiles gratefully before facing Derek again. 

“What?” Derek says, looking suspiciously from her trembling hands to her apprehensive expression. 

“I’m not sure we’ll be able to get back to the ship.” 

Everyone stiffens, backs going rigid all around. Isaac steps forward from his position against the wall, mouth open in shock. 

“What do you mean?” Stiles tries not to acknowledge the way that Derek’s voice cracks, the way his face has gone colourless. The rest of the crew look just as shocked. 

“Of course we can get back to the ship.” Scott pipes up, a frown on his face. “It’s just a few minutes away.”

Lydia shakes her head. “When we passed the safety lines surrounding the ship, we automatically portalled to a different part of the planet, near the Eye. Its why you couldn’t see the ship from the Eye earlier, because it isn’t actually anywhere near the Eye. When you and Stiles were captured, you were walked around a corner that’s at the end of this street, and you portalled to the street.”

“Oh.” Scott says slowly. “Well, can’t we just portal back?” 

Lydia shakes her head again, bites her lip at Derek’s look of stunned realisation. 

“The remote that controls all of the portals won’t work anymore, which means that the safety lines automatically shut down, and so do all of the portal devices.”

“How did it break?” Erica demands, waves her arms wildly to the side. “The remote always stays with Derek, he’s our Captain.” She turns on Derek, face contorting angrily as everyone watches in silence. “You stayed back from the physical combat; none of those monsters laid a hand on your portal device.” 

Stiles thinks it would be a bad idea to point out that they’re actually called spiders, and technically they don’t have hands. 

“I didn’t have the main device.” Derek spits out. He yanks fiercely on his sleeve, displaying a portal that’s exactly the same as Allison’s, the same as everyone else’s.   
Stiles closes his eyes, lets out a pained sigh. He understands now. His wrist aches in sympathy, the broken portal glinting up at him from beneath the glove of webbing and spider venom. 

“I heard Stiles say that Derek was a big target to most creatures as the Captain, and there was a bigger risk to us losing the portal and cutting off the connection if it stayed with him. I agreed, and so we switched devices.” 

Stiles keeps his eyes shut, but he can feel everyone’s eyes on his wrist, the weight of all of their combined glares somehow heavier than anything he’s ever felt before. 

“So, we’re stuck here.” Stiles hears Allison whisper. 

“We need to move, find somewhere safe to set up camp.” Derek orders, his voice void of all emotion. “McCall, Allison, help Lydia pack up her things. The rest of you follow me, we need to start looking for shelter.” 

“What about Stiles?” Scott blurts out, hand tightening on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles cracks one eye open in time to see Derek give him a furious look, before his face closes off. 

“I think I can minimise the effects of the poison.” Lydia offers, looking stronger and more put together than a few moments ago. 

“I don’t care.” Derek says stonily, after a second’s hesitation. He turns around, beckons to his crew. “Just hurry up.”   
The rest of them scramble off to follow Derek, although Isaac hesitates for a minute. He darts back to them, unwinds his scarf from around his neck and wraps it around Stiles’. Then he dashes off, leaving Stiles to blink in surprise. 

“Better get moving then.” Allison says eventually. She hoists Lydia’s bag up, zips the contents safely away and helps Lydia shoulder it. Scott wraps his arm around Stiles’ waist, lifts him carefully to his feet and lets Stiles lean on him. 

“Don’t worry about Derek,” Lydia intones darkly. “He’s a dick and he’s going to apologise to you.” She shakes her head, tossing her hair about. Allison links their fingers together, smiling sweetly. 

“Make him work for it,” She remarks softly, winking at Stiles before tugging Lydia forward. 

“Lydia’ll fix you up.” Scott reassures him, as they amble across the street, dodging spiders left and right. 

“I know,” Stiles murmurs. That’s not what’s bothering him; he can’t get the image of Derek’s face out of his head, chalk white and lost, when Lydia said they were stuck here. He had looked so young, so fragile, and Stiles could feel the guilt start to choke him.

“Wasn’t your fault. Scott says firmly. “Now, why don’t you tell me all about your heroic battle with that poisonous beast?”

Stiles snorts, laughs faintly and shakes his head. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. What was it like being fast and strong for once in your life?” 

Scott’s laughter echoes across the street, and Stiles grins, leans tiredly into his friend. He can always count on his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Any good? Let me know! I'm off to eat my weight in chocolate :)

**Author's Note:**

> So, there was this idea in my head and i decided to write it. I have it all written out, and i'll get my wonderful beta, kickasscookieater, to have a look at the next few chapters :) She's a Saint! Right, no warnings needed, I don't think, just Stiles being a lil shit. Love you all! Mwah!


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